P  S 

3525 

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1914 

MAIN 


UC-NRLF 


B   M   7E3 


reft/  and  Babe  Robinson 


or 


The  Streets  of  Old 
San  Francisco 


A  Play 


Shall  a  celestial  spark  he  quenched  in  the 
und  an  angel  he  bartered  for  gold?  " 


By  ELLA  STERLING  MIGHELS 

(Born  Clark) 

Author  of  "The  Full  Glory  of  Diantha, "  "The  Story  of  the  Flies  of 
California/'  "Little  Mountain  Princess/'  etc. 


GIFT   OF 


PRICE,   $1.OO 


Society  and  Babe  Robinson 


or 


The  Streets  of  Old 
San  Francisco 

A  Play 


"Shall  a  celestial  spark  he  quenched  in  the 
and  an  angel  be  bartered  for  gold?  " 


By  ELLA  STERLING  MIGUELS 

(Born  Clark) 

Author  of  "The  Full  Glory  of  Diantha,  "  "The  Story  of  the  Files  of 
California/'   "Little  Mountain  Princess/'  etc. 


(XZ» 


Society  and  Babe  Robinson 

or  the 

Streets  of  Old  San  Francisco 


Play 


Containing  also   frontispiece,   "Where   Babe   Met   Morton   Again;"   Intro 
duction,    Biographical    sketch   and   portrait    of   author, 
and   a  "Word   to    theReader." 


J'acific  Publication   Company, 

88    J4'iist    Street,    San    Francisco. 

1914. 


b 


To  Mr.  S.  Hartman,  of  Merced 

An  early  Californian,  a  faithful  American  and  a  true 
friend  of  long  acquaintance  who  has  always  encouraged 
me  in  my  work  from  my  youth  up  till  now. 


327214 


All  rights  reserved.     Copyright  1914. 
Ella    Sterling    Mighels. 


:,V         W 

A  °          '  V.V 


II 


INTRODUCTION 


This  play  of  "Society  and  Babe  Robinson  or  the  Streets  of  old  San 
Francisco,"  by  Ella  Sterling-  Mighels,  a  daughter  of  the  Golden  West, 
will  appeal  to  all  classes,  the  rich  and  the  poor  alike,  at  home  and  abroad. 
And  in  book  form  it  will  make  a  unique  addition  to  collections  of  "Cali 
fornia."  The  first  and  the  second  acts  of  the  play  were  written  as  a  short 
story,  and  it  was  read  in  public  at  an  entertainment  given  for  the  benefit  of 
the  "San  Francisco  Girls'  Union,"  the  first  non-sectarian  attempt  made 
for  the  helping  of  working-girls  in  our  city.  This  was  given  at  Irving 
Hall  on  Post  street,  near  Kearny,  on  Tuesday  evening,  June  9th,  1885. 

The  author  was  applauded  to  the  echo.  Not  only  that,  she  was 
also  urged  to  turn  her  chapters  into  a  serial  for  the  "San  Franciscan," 
but  that  weekly  journal  had  passed  away  before  the  tale  was  completed. 
Always  she  met  someone  on  the  street  who  stopped  to  ask  about 
"poor  little  Babe  Robinson,"  as  if  the  child  were  a  living,  breathing 
human  entity.  Wherever  she  went,  Babe  Robinson  walked  by  her 
side,  entreating  companionship.  And  so  grew  the  complex  situation 
copied  from  the  life  of  the  city  of  that  day,  interwoven  with  the 
types  familiar  to  our  streets.  Each  one  of  these  types  is  modeled 
from  a  real  human  being  of  that  time. 

The  story  from  which  this  play  has  been  dramatized  was  written 
under  the  influence  of  the  undying  melodramas  of  that  period,  "The 
Two  Orphans,"  "The  Lights  of  London,"  "The  Shadows  of  a  Great 
City"  and  "Romany  Rye."  For  the  sensational  tale  of  "Society  and 
Babe  Robinson"  has  the  streets  of  old  San  Francisco  for  a  back 
ground,  as  the  others  have  Paris,  London  and  New  York  for  theirs. 

Thus  it  is  that  that  old  time  has  been  thus  preserved  for  those 
of  future  generations,  to  reveal  to  them  what  is  lost  now  and  gone 
forever,  as  if  it  were  a  happening  of  only  yesterday. 

The  two  lines  used  on  the  cover  to  express  the  spirit  of  the  drama 
were  written  by  a  poet  of  the  early  days  who  died  in  the  mines  of 
mountain-fever,  while  still  a  youth.  The  other  lines  used  elsewhere  were 
written  by  the  author  of  the  play. 

Owing  to  the  romantic  life-story  of  the  author  of  this  original  drama, 
without  which  as  a  background,  doubtless  "Society  and  Babe  Robinson" 
would  never  have  come  into  being,  it  has  seemed  only  a  natural  thing 
that  it  should  be  told  here  in  the  form  of  a  biographical  sketch. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  OF  THE  AUTHOR 

By  SARAH  CONNELL 
7 

The  birthplace  of  Mrs.  Ella  Sterling  Mighels  was  in  Sacramento 
county,  in  the  mines  near  Sonoma  where  James  Marshall  found  the 
first  piece  of  gold.  She  is  the  posthumous  daughter  of  the  late 
Sterling  B-.  F.  Clark  of  Rutland,  Vermont.  He  had  crossed  the  plains 
early  in  1849  and  had  settled  at  Mormon  Island  in  the  midst  of  the 
first  "gold-diggings"  in  the  state.  Soon  after  arriving  he  was  recog 
nized  for  his  ability,  and  as  "Alcalde  Clark"  he  presided  over  a  rough 
court-of-justice  such  as  prevailed  in  those  times.  Every  turn  of 
his  hand  brought  him  good  fortune,  so  that  in  three  years  he  owned 
not  only  flume  and  water-rights  but  also  a  hotel  and  other  property, 
as  well  as  land  in  San  Jose  and  Sacramento. 

It  was  not  strange  under  these  favorable  circumstances  that  he 
should  decide  to  return  to  the  Eastern  States  via  Panama  and  marry 
the  "girl  he  had  left  behind  him"  in  Pennsylvania,  and  fetch  his 
young  bride  to  the  home  he  hoped  to  establish.  Upon  his  arrival 
in  California  for  the  second  time,  returning  to  San  Erancisco  by 
ship,  he  arose  early,  went  on  shore  and  returned  with  the  fruits  of 
the  season  to  display  to  his  young  bride.  He  was  stricken  suddenly 
with  symptoms  resembling  cholera  and  was  carried  upon  a  stretcher 
to  the  old  Rassette  House  on  Bush  street,  attended  by  his  wife, 
"a  stranger  in  a  strange  land."  There  two  weeks  later  he  died,  at 
the  age  of  twenty-eight.  His  last  words  Avere  these,  "Dear  Rachie, 
promise  to  keep  me  in  the  remembrance  of  the  little  one  that  is 
coming." 

Mrs.  Clark,  a  bride  of  three  months,  exchanged  her  bridal  garb 
for  deepest  mourning.  From  the  grave  of  her  husband  in  Yerba 
Buena  cemetery  (where  now  cross  McAllister  and  Polk  streets), 
she  went  to  Mormon  Island  where  she  entered  into  possession  of 
the  estate  left  to  her.  The  judge  of  the  probate-court  made  a  special 
ruling  to  suit  the  circumstances  of  the  case  and  set  apart  two-thirds 
of  the  estate  as  the  separate  property  of  the  unborn  child,  including 
in  this  division,  the  land  in  Sacramento.  (Upon  this  land  today  is 
located  the  Capitol  and  the  governor's  mansion  at  Sacramento.)  So 
great  was  the  interest  of  the  entire  community  in  the  tragic  bereave 
ment  of  Mrs.  Clark,  that  everybody  sought  to  serve  her.  Never  were 
women  more  devoted.  Never  was  the  innate  chivalry  of  man  more 
beautifully,  more  delicately  revealed  and  portrayed.  At  that  early 
time  the  children  were  running  wild  and  among  them,  some  big 
uncouth  boys  who  did  not  know  their  letters  at  twelve  years  of  age. 
A  committee  of  men  came  one  day  to  urge  that  Mrs.  Clark  should 
turn  her  little  canvas  house  into  a  school  for  the  sake  of  the  com 
munity  and  the  young.  This  she  did,  thus  starting  the  first  public 
school  in  that  region,  which  was  also  a  Sunday  school  for  them  all 
week  long,  where  they  learned  morals  and  manners  as  well  as  books. 
She  even  taught  them  the  stars.  In  after  years  bearded  men  sought 
her  out  in  the  Sierras  to  express  their  gratitude  to  her  for  the  culture 
they  had  received  in  that  little  home-of-learning.  This  location  is 
pointed  out  today  by  a  landmark-sign  placed  upon  a  big  tree  beside 
the  road,  three  miles  from  Folsom,  on  Hoxie's  ranch. 


Here,  surrounded  by  the  women  and  children,  the  young  widow 
kept  apart  from  the  world,  and  in  the  following  year,  on  May  5th, 
1853.  in  this  school-house  was  born  the  posthumous  child  of  Sterling 
B.  F.  Clark.  The  miners  who  had  been  his  friends  and  comrades, 
grieved  sincerely  over  the  plight  of  the  fatherless  babe.  A  deputation 
of  stalwart  citizens  came  with  a  gift  of  their  own.  They  had  brought 
her  a  gold-rocker  to  take  the  place  of  the  traditional  cradle,  and  each 
man  took  his  turn  in  rocking  and  soothing  her  to  sleep  in  this  unique 
bed,  with  his  own  mother's  lullabies  upon  his  lips.  In  'a  measure 
it  was  as  if  they  had  adopted  her,  and  so  "Little  Ella,"  as  she  was 
always  known  to  them  (even  after  she  grew  up),  became  the  ward 
of  the  community,  belonging  to  men  and  to  women  alike. 

When  the  little  girl  was  fourteen  months  old,  there  was  a  wed 
ding  in  the  canvas  church,  and  Mrs.  Clark  was  led  to  the  altar  by  a 
man  from  Maine,  Dudley  Haines  Haskell.  As  they  walked  down 
the  aisle  together,  he  stopped  and  claimed  the  child  as  well  as  the 
mother,  saying:  "I  have  my  wife  on  this  arm,  now  give  me  my  child 
on  the  other/'  And  the  women  were  all  weeping  as  he  went  forth 
with  them  both  from  the  church-door  to  be  always  faithful  to  his 
trust  to  his  last  day  on  earth.  So  it  came  that  the  little  girl  had  a 
particular  father  of  her  own  even  though  all  men  were  her  fathers. 
And  she  also  had  brothers  and  sisters  to  whom  she  became  a  little 
mother  of  solicitude  herself,  and  whom  she  loved  with  all  the  ardor 
of  her  nature. 

Her  mother  never  ceased  telling  her  as  soon  as  she  could  talk, 
of  the  message  left  to  her  from  her  own  father,  and  impressing  upon 
the  childish  mind  that  she  herself  belonged  to  California  and  Cali 
fornia  belonged  to  her  more  than  any  other  child,  historically,  because 
of  these  circumstances  peculiar  to  the  early  times.  And  especially 
because  she  had  been  cradled  in  the  gold-rocker  which  had  been 
taken  from  its  use  on  the  banks  of  the  American  river  to  serve  her 
instead  of  washing  gold.  Always  she  repeated  to  the  child  the  story 
of  these  stern  strong  men  who  forgot  the  gold  in  their  desire  to  serve 
a  child,  and  who  were  like  fathers  to  her  when  she  was  a  helpless 
little  thing,  and  the  mother  urged  upon  the  little  girl  never  to  forget 
them  to  her  latest  day. 

Thus  she  grew  up  amongst  the  miners  not  only  in  Mormon 
Island  but  also  in  Esmeralda  county  in  the  Sierras,  where  again  she 
met  the  same  men,  grown  older,  but  still  in  pursuit  of  gold  and  silver. 
She  was  their  pet  and  playfellow,  and  gathered  an  endless  repertory 
of  true  stories  to  tell  to  future  generations  of  the  big,  kind-hearted 
men  and  the  consideration  and  indulgence  they  always  showed  to  the 
young  of  early  days.  So  it  came  to  pass  that  Ella  Sterling  Clark 
grew  up  to  womanhood  believing  in  her  destiny,  that  she  was  to  be 
the  connecting  link  between  the  old  times  and  the  new,  and  was  to 
stand  as  witness  of  the  splendid  worth  of  these  early  men  never 
chronicled  by  any  of  our  historians. 

Mrs.  Mighels  has  been  quite  a  traveler,  having  crossed  the  conti 
nent  twelve  times  and  the  Isthmus  of  Panama  twice.  Born  near  the 
banks  of  the  American,  her  first  school  days  were  passed  within  the 
sound  of  the  waters  of  the  floodtides  of  the  restless  Sacramento,  but 
there  are  other  memories.  Before  she  was  ten  years  old,  she-knew 
the  Androscoggin  in  Maine  and  the  "blue  Juniata"  in  Pennsylvania. 


She  has  walked  beside  the  Hudson,  the  Thames  and  the  Seine,  as  well 
as  by  the  Shannon,  which  derived  its  name  from  some  of  her  far-oil 
ancestors  on  one  side  of  the  family.  On  the  Clark  side  she  counts 
her  descent  from  New  England  colonists  as  far  back  as  1640.  Rivers 
have  left  a  deep  impression  on  her  memory,  and  she  speaks,  too,  of 
the  red  rushing  torrent  of  the  Colorado,  the  majestic  glory  of  the 
Columbia,  the  tossing  current  of  the  Kern,  the  beauties  of  the  Merced, 
the  weird  sensation  produced  by  gazing  down  from  a  mountain  in 
Modoc  county  upon  Goose  Lake,  the  source  of  the  Sacramento,  and 
the  sublimity  of  that  frozen  river,  the  Muir  Glacier,  upon  which  she 
has  walked  for  miles. 

Though  never  posed  as  an  infant  prodigy,  Mrs.  Mighels  showed 
her  literary  proclivities  very  early  in  life.  She  began  to  write  little 
stories  when  she  was  yet  a  child  and  she  is  still  writing.  "The 
Little  Mountain  Princess,"  a  story  of  Lake  Tahoe,  the  first  novel 
written  by  a  native  Californian,  published  in  1881,  was  hers.  After 
the  death  of  her  first  husband,  the  late  Adley  H.  Cummins,  in  1889, 
she  turned  to  the  work  of  compiling  and  publishing  "The  Story  of 
the  Files  of  California,"  the  standard,  in  fact,  the  only  available  source 
of  information  concerning  the  early  literary  history  of  the  state. 
Later,  another  novel,  "The  Full  Glory  of  Diantha,"  was  published. 
Caspar,  the  virginal,  elemental  hero  of  the  story  was  modeled  from 
her  own  ideal  of  a  man,  Adley  H.  Cummins. 

After  an  absence  of  sixteen  years,  twelve  of  which  were  spent 
in  New  York  and  four  in  London,  Mrs.  Mighels  returned  to  Cali 
fornia.  Having  lost  her  only  child  and  her  second  husband  by  death, 
she  is  devoting  herself  to  two  objects,  the  completion  of  her  own 
literary  work,  and  the  welfare  of  the  children  of  her  neighborhood. 

Her  home  at  1605  Baker  street,  is  a  port  of  refuge  and  a  center 
of  culture  for  them.  Irrespective  of  creed,  class  or  country,  they 
flock  to  "Aunt  Ella."  From  the  babies  yet  led  by  the  hand  to  the 
youths  and  maidens  on  the  threshold  of  the  larger  life,  they  come  for 
amusement,  advice  or  assistance  in  their  school  studies.  "A  Child's 
Library"  without  any  of  the  restrictions  of  an  institution  is  one  of 
the  features.  Here  there  are  the  colored  pictures  and  large  print  that 
are  a  joy  to  the  youngest  infants;  fairy  tales  and  children's  classics, 
histories,  biographies  and  the  school-books  of  earlier  days  act  as  lure 
and  stimulant.  The  standard  good  books  which  have  stood  the  test 
of  generations  are  available  to  the  older  lads  and  lasses,  as  well  as 
the  mothers  and  fathers.  Various,  but  always  advantageous,  are  the 
occupations  which  find  interest.  One  may  drop  in  upon  the  old- 
fashioned  spelling-match,  or  it  may  be  the  enactment  of  a  fairy  story 
or  a  series  of  tableaux  presenting  patriotic  and  historical  scenes  and 
events  or  perhaps  a  recitation  of  poems.  Mrs.  Mighels  is  following 
the  system  established  by  her  own  mother  away  back  in  the  fifties, 
before  the  school  system  was  in  practical  working  order,  and  churches, 
except  in  the  larger  settlements,  were  few  and  far  between.  While 
these  little  neighborhood  boys  and  girls  and  their  big  sisters  and 
brothers  are  apparently  only  having  the  best  kind  of  a  time,  they  are 
also  learning  moderation  of  speech,  good  language,  good  manners, 
good  taste  and  an  appreciation  of  all  good  things.  They  call  them 
selves  the  "Ark-adian  Brothers  and  Sisters  of  California,"  and  the 
one  rule  they  must  observe  is,  "Thou  shalt  keep  the  peace." 


Already  these  children  have  attracted  attention  in  their  classes 
at  school  as  being  brighter  than  their  fellows,  for  Mrs.  Mighels,  like 
her  mother,  has  also  taught  them  the  stars  as  well  as  books. 

"Aunt  Ella"  believes  that  for  the  sake  of  Young  Life  we  should 
lay  stress,  not  on  the  evil  which  we  do  not  wish  to  sec  propagated,  but 
on  the  good  we  would  see  prosper.  Her  rule  of  guidance  is  not  the 
negative  but  the  affirmative,  and  the  children  learn  to  act  not  because 
*'I  didn't  know  it  was  wrong"  but  because  "I  knew  it  was  right."  Their 
motto  is  "Work  for  the  right  and  fight  for  it."  Her  aim  and  object 
is  to  "KEEP  THE  INNOCENT  INNOCENT,"  for  the  sake  of  the 
family,  the  state  and  society,  as  she  was  taught  in  her  own  childhood. 

She  urges  a  revival  of  the  almost  obsolete  term,  Friendship,  to 
take  the  place  of  the  misused  and  misapplied  modern  expression, 
Love.  She  maintains  that  Love  is  a  house  on  fire,  destructive  while 
it  lasts,  but  quickly  dying  down  to  leave  only  cold  ashes,  while 
Friendship  is  a  controlled  fire  in  an  open  grate,  giving  forth  warmth 
and  providing  peace  and  comfort.  All  men  and  women  should  main 
tain  towards  each  other  the  attitude  of  Brothers  and  Sisters,  for 
the  good  of  Society,  and,  as  in  the  old  fairy  stories,  there  should  be 
but  one  prince  and  one  princess  in  each  life ;  all  others  are  wicked 
magicians  and  old  witches.  Children  should  be  taught  to  be  friendly 
with  the  neighbors,  and  neighbors  should  be  friends  to  the  children. 
Her  interpretation  of  the  old  fairy  myths  is  original — that  the  real 
fairies  are  the  elderly  folks  who  care  more  fur  children  than  they  do 
about  fashions,  so  they  are  always  portrayed  in  rags.  But  when 
children  are  good  and  considerate  the  fairies  are  ready  to  wave  the 
magic  wand  and  transform  everything  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye, 
and  if  the  children  of  today  were  polite  and  respectful  to  those  whose 
heads  are  gray,  both  men  and  women,  they,  too,  would  meet  fairies, 
for  politeness*  invites  the  fairies  while  rudeness  drives  them  away. 
In  the  play,  "Society  and  Babe  Robinson,"  founded  partly  on  fact, 
she  shows  how  a  poor  little  girl,  unfortunate  and  alone,  without  in 
fluence,  succeeded  in  making  good  friends  to  come  to  her  relief  and 
bring  her  happiness. 


Portrait  of  Author  in  her  Pioneer  Mother's 
Wedding  Shawl  of   1852. 


A  WORD  TO  THE  READER 


This  play  is  a  dramatized  version  of  an  unpublished  novel  of  the 
same  name  which  has  claimed  my  attention  ever  since  1885.  It  is 
now  being  published  in  book-form,  not  so  much  to  display  a  knowl 
edge  of  dramatic  technique,  as  to  reveal  the  workings  of  the  human 
heart,  of  rougher  human  nature,  and  to  picture  the  streets  of  old  San 
Francisco  briefly  and  with  vividness.  A  good  stage-manager  may 
easily  prepare  this  mental  offspring  of  mine  for  stage-presentation, 
but  doubtless  he  would  make  changes  requiring  someone  to  be 
"married  off"  in  the  last  act.  To  my  mind  the  conventional  ending 
of  a  play,  in  wedding,  divorce  or  death,  does  not  seem  to  be  the  only 
one,  although  it  does  appeal  to  the  average  publisher  and  stage- 
manager. 

I  interpret  the  great  "Book  of  Life"  differently,  and  I  believe  that 
the  general  public  is  coming  to  read  it  according  to  the  more  natural 
way,  too. 

To  survive  is  the  first  law  of  our  nature.  Therefore  in  "Society" 
you  will  find  all,  the  high  and  the  low,  the  rich  as  well  as  the  poor, 
the  parasites  and  the  cravens,  the  innocent  and  the  crafty,  all  waging 
wrar,  one  against  the  other,  in  the  "Battle  for  Gain,"  which  to  some 
merely  means  "BREAD."  In  the  midst  of  the  struggle  is  the  forlorn 
figure  of  a  Babe  Robinson,  trying  to  pick  up  a  crumb  here  and  there. 

What  wonder,  in  the  midst  of  the  clashing  and  resounding  of 
arms,  that  the  still  small  voice  of  Duty  is  hushed  by  the  clamorous 
cry  of  Self-interest,  and  the  child  is  crushed  under  foot?  And  yet, 
there  is  a  holy  fatherhood  and  a  holy  motherhood  in  human  nature, 
which  comes  to  the  relief  of  the  forlorn  child  and  preserves  her  to 
the  world.  Paternal  and  maternal  solicitude  over  the  young  being 
the  highest  and  most  thrilling  exercise  of  human  feeling,  it  cannot  be 
crushed  out.  It  survives  in  spite  of  everything  as  a  saving  grace  to 
prevent  this  poor  old  world  from  rushing  to  its  doom  of  extinction. 
It  survives  in  the  heart  of  a  stage-driver,  of  a  gambler,  of  a  reporter, 
of  an  old  maiden  lady,  of  an  old  Irish  woman,  of  a  high-bred  society 
dame,  at  the  opportune  moment  to  be  exercised  for  the  sake  of  a 
Babe  Robinson.  It  was  true  then,  away  back  in  1881  in  our  San 
Francisco.  And  it  is  true  now  in  this  year  of  1914. 

It  is  my  desire  to  preserve  the  original  story  just  as  it  is.  It  is 
my  wish  to  maintain  from  first  to  last  the  simplicity  and  delicacy 


of  the  suppressed  tragedy  revealed  in  the  under-current  of  this  play. 
It  is  my  sincere  belief  that  more  tragic  than  the  retribution  of  evil, 
more  poignant  than  the  remorse  of  the  wrong-doer,  are  the  trials 
of  the  innocent. 

1  take  this  stand :  that  whatever  may  be  the  status  of  a  man, 
whatever  of  misfortune  or  even  of  evil  that  may  have  entered  into 
his  life,  on  one  point  he  should  be  firm.  As  in  the  early  days  of  our 
land,  he  should  shine  with  a  radiance  like  that  of  the  angels  guarding 
the  young  from  harm,  and  strengthening  them  in  their  innocence. 
I  insist  that  there  is  no  duty,  no  obligation  on  earth  which  goes 
before  PROTECTION  OF  YOUNG  LIFE.  And  in  the  early  days 
we  had  it.  That  is  the  message  I  bring  to  each  one  of  you  from  the 
mining-times  and  from  the  miners  themselves.  They  were  my 
companions  and  playmates.  They  deplored  their  own  lapses  from 
grace,  but  entreated  the  children  to  be  good,  and  nobly,  generously, 
helped  them  to  that  which  was  good. 

As  these  men  went  tramping  from  one  mining-camp  to  another  in 
quest  of  the  ever-elusive  gold  and  silver,  these  men  fell  into  nameless 
graves.  But  I  say  to  you  that  their  message  to  you  of  today  in  this 
play  of  mine  is  worth  more  than  jewels  of  pearls  and  diamonds: 
"Keep  the  innocent,  innocent." 

ELLA  STERLING  MIGUELS. 
(Born  Clark.) 


Society  and  Babe  Robinson 

or  the 

Streets  of  Old  San  Francisco 

In  a  Prologue  and  Five  Acts 

By 
Ella  Sterling  Mighels 


"Shall  a  celestial  spark  be   quenched  in  the  dark 
And  an  angel  be  bartered  for  gold?" 

(From  Lyman   Goodman,   an  early   California  poet.) 


Time,  1879-'81.     Placed  in  Nevada  and  in  California. 
Prologue.     A  stage-station  in  the  wilds  of  Nevada.     Parting  of  Babe 
and  Steve,  the  stage-driver. 

"Move  patiently  on,  O   Earth, 
Till  patience  no  more  can  bear." 

(Lapse  of  twenty-four  hours.) 

Act.  I.  Scene  1.  San  Francisco,  ferry-landing.  Babe  meets  Belmonr, 
the  gambler,  and  Morton,  the  reporter.  Scene  2.  Babe  falls  under 
the  spell  of  Mollie  Darling.  Scene  3.  Babe  runs  to  the  arms  of 
Sister  Gertrude. 

"Till  Justice  shall  fly  to  the  home  of  its  birth 
And  justice   on   earth  declare." 

(Lapse  of  one  year.) 

Act  II.  Scene  1.  Window  of  Manning's  Oyster  Grotto  and  outside  (it 
Bohemian  Club,  Art  Association  and  California  Market  on  Pine 
street,  between  Montgomery  and  Kearny.  Babe  meets  Morton 
again.  Scene  2.  Inside  of  Grotto.  Morton  finds  friends  for  Babe 
before  he  goes  to  write  up  the  hanging. 

"There  are  grains  of  gold  in  the  darksome  earth, 
There  are  lustrous  pearls  in  the  deep,  deep  sea." 

(Lapse  of  six  months.) 

Act  III.  Scene  1.  Howard  near  Fifth  street,  rooming-house  of  poor 
people.  Mrs.  Spangler's  home  where  Kate  and  Lily  have  taken  Babe 
under  their  protection.  Scene  2.  Room  inside  of  house.  Scene  3. 
Hall  outside  of  room.  Morton  listens  to  the  fog-horn.  Scene  4 
(after  the  curtain  has  gone  down  and  up  again).  Alley-way,  Bel- 
mour's  hiding  place. 

"And  a  mighty  heart  is  beating  still 
Underneath  the  world's  great  misery." 

(Lapse  of  six  months.) 


Act  IV.  Scene  1.  Nob  Hill,  California  street.  Exterior  of  Miss  Har 
rington's  mansion.  Scene  2.  Interior  of  same.  Wedding  of  Kate 
and  Will  Harrington,  Babe's  first  appearance  in  Society.  Babe 
gives  her  promise  to  Morton. 

"Beneath   the  darkest  cloud   the   silver  gleams." 
(Lapse  of  twelve  hours.) 

Act  V.  Scene  1.  Room  at  Mrs.  Spangler's  house  again.  Mollie 
Darling  seeks  Babe.  Babe  breaks  her  promise.  Morton  turns  from 
her.  Scene  2.  Belmour's  hiding-place.  Babe  learns  who  it  is  that 
murdered  Steve.  Scene  3.  At  the  dock  of  the  China  steamer.  Babe 
forgives  Belmour.  Scene  4.  End  of  dock.  Babe  is  rescued.  Miss 
Harrington  is  moved  to  compassion;  orders  her  carriage  to  be 
brought  and  takes  the  child  as  a  guest  to  her  own  home.  One  by 
one  they  all  depart  save  one,  the  faithful  Keyman,  who  stands  gazing 
at  the  distant  ship  bound  for  China. 

"In  every  soul  there  is  a  point  that  redeems." 


PROLOGUE 

STEVE,  the  stage-driver. 

TOM,  the  other  stage-driver. 

TALL  HIGHWAYMAN. 

SHORT  HIGHWAYMAN  (addressed  as  "Bart"). 

PARSON  HAGER. 

BABE  ROBIXSOX,  fourteen  years  old,  a  waif  from  the  mountains. 


OTHER  ACTS 

JOSEPH  MORTON,  a  reporter. 

ROBERT  BELMOUR,  a  gambler. 

MR.  MALONEY,  a  political  boss. 

PARSON  HAGER,  searching  for  his  long-lost  daughter. 

MALCOLM  STRONG,  a  young  bookkeeper,  brother  of  Kate. 

WILL  HARRINGTON,  who  is  in  love  with  Kate.  He  is  the  young  half- 
brother  of  the  wealthy  society-woman,  Miss  Harrington,  who  frowns 
upon  Kate. 

JIM  CASTLETON,  a  society  man,  in  love  with  Lily  White. 
GEORGE  FRENCH,  a  capper  for  gamblers,  called  "Frenchy." 

ALFRED  KERCH EVAL,  the  weakling  son  of  a  rich  man  in  Sacramento. 

BOHRY  SPANGLER,  son  of  an  Irish  mother  and  an  English  father,  his 
mother,  Mrs.  Spangler,  being  now  a  widow. 

HENRY  SCHLOSSER,  the  keyman  of  San  Francisco,  a  castaway  of 
German  tyjxr.     (These  three  being  hoodlums  and  friends.) 


MURRAY,  the  butler  at  Miss  Harrington's. 
DR.  KERCHEVAL  of  Sacramento. 
BILLY  BARNEY,  a  negro  minstrel,  out  of  a  job. 
NEIGHBOR  O'NEIL,  a  wealthy  working  man. 

EMPEROR  NORTON,  a  character  from  the  early  days,  always  passing  along 

the  street  in  the  parade  of   fashion,   stopping  to  give  the  rosebud 

from  his  buttonhole  to  some  pretty  little  girl. 
BABE  ROBINSON,  the  waif  from  the  mountains,  hoping  to  get  work 

to  do  in  the  city. 

MOLLIE  DARLING,  an  adventuress,  companion  of  Belmour. 
Miss  WIGGINS,  a  kind  old  school  teacher. 

SISTER  GERTRUDE,  a  night-nurse  of  a  semi-religious  sisterhood. 
KATE  STRONG,  land-office  clerk,  helping  to  get  her  brother  through  Heald's 

Business  College. 
LILY  WHITE,  a  very  beautiful  girl,  a  sales-lady  in  a  fashionable  cloak 

store. 

BUNNIE,  the  infant. 

MRS.  EMMONS,  wrho  adopts  Bunnie. 

MRS.  RICHMOND,  a  very  beautiful  woman,  owner  of  the  Woman's  Co 
operative  Printing  Company,  with  whom  Babe  finds  congenial  work 
to  do,  at  four  dollars  a  week. 

MRS.  SPANGLER,  once  Maggie  Maginnis,  the  "queen  of  Antrim  County," 
but  now  the  landlady  of  a  rooming-house  for  poor  people,  and  the 
proud  mother  of  Bobby  Spangler. 

MRS.  BIDDY  EGAN,  the  weird  old  sister  of  Mrs.  Spangler,  called  "the 
bogie"  by  the  roomers,  a  poor  scrub  woman  with  a  big  heart. 

MRS.  GUSSET,  who  lives  in  the  basement,  a  poor  widow  who  makes  shirts 
for  Beamish  and  Company  to  support  herself  and  five  children.  Mrs. 
Gusset  appears  in  the  background  apologetically  trying  to  keep  the 
children  from  annoying  every  one. 

MINERVA,  who  plays  with  the  Gussets. 

SOCIETY    PEOPLE 


Miss  HARRINGTON 
MRS.  CASTLETON 


who    are    trying    to    make    a    match    between 
young  Harrington  and  one  of  the  daughters 


of  Mrs.  Castleton. 

Miss    MARIE   CASTLETON,   who   has   a   kindly    feeling    for   Morton,   the 
reporter. 

MRS.  MORTON,  an  Eastern  woman. 

JENNY        )  y°unger  daughters,  who  are  merely  in  the  background. 

Two  YOUNG  SOCIETY  MEN,  also  in  the  background. 

MEN,  WOMEN,  CHILDREN,  DETECTIVES,  DOCKMEN,  WORKERS,  etc. 


PROLOGUE 


SCENE.  (Stage  station  for  changing  horses  near  bv  but  not  in 
sight.  Wild  country  of  Nevada.  Sagebrush.  Morning  light  sloivly  un 
folds  from  darkness  into  pink  and  purple.  Hiding  in  the  brush  are  two 
forms  of  men.  They  are  disguised  and  wrapped  in  gunny-sacks  with 
black  masks  obscuring  their  faces.  A  sound  of  distant  wheels  sounds 
faintly.  Men  arouse  themselves.  One  creeps  out  from  under  cover  and 
puts  ear  to  the  ground.) 

FIRST  MAN  :  I  hear  it — it's  the  stage  all  right  coming  down.  Now, 
Bart,  you  go  up  the  road  and  be  ready  to  stop  the  horses  when  it  goes 
back,  and  (grimly)  I'll  hold  up  the  driver  and  make  him  throw  down 
the  Wells  Fargo !  It's  a  big  haul  this  time.  Don't  lose  your  nerve — keep 
cool. 

BART,  (standing  up  as  he  starts  to  obey  instructions,  showing  him 
self  to  be  shorter  than  the  first  man)  :  Wish  I  was  as  cool  as  you.  But 
this  is  my  first  time,  you  know,  (pantomime  folloics.  They  creep  behind 
the  brush  and  disappear. 

Closer  comes  the  clatter  of  wheels.  Voices  are  heard  calling  and 
giving  orders  about  the  baggage.  There  is  considerable  bustle  and  noise 
as  of  trunks  being  transferred  from  one  stage  to  the  other.) 

Voice  of  TOM,  the  other  stagedriver:  Wait  a  minute,  Steve,  I've 
got  to  tell  you  something. 

STEVE  (coming  in  sight  while  speaking)  :  All  right,  Tom.  Be  ready 
in  a  minute.  (Steve  is  leading  Babe  by  the  hand.  She  clings  to  him  and 
is  weeping.  He  is  a  fine  specimen  of  rugged  manhood,  with  iron-gray 
touches  in  his  hair  and  short  beard.  Babe  is  still  childlike  and  simple  in 
spite  of  her  fourteen  years,  and  is  given  to  outbursts  of  feeling.  She  is 
dressed  in  an  all-red  outfit,  merino  frock  and  red-and-black  plaid  shawl; 
on  her  head  is  a  man's  hat  of  black  felt,  and  it  is  tied  under  her  chin  with 
red  ribbons.  The  hat  has  a  wa\  of  slipping  back  and  making  a  halo  around 
her  face.  Her  shawl  is  flying  loose  most  of  the  time.  Her  short  reddish- 
brown  hair  hangs  in  curling  clusters  about  her  face.  In  her  hand  she 
holds  an  old-fashioned  carpet-sack  with  faded  flowers  on,  shoiving  that 
it  is  much  the  worse  for  wear.)  I've  got  to  say  good-bye  to  the  little  gal 
first,  (to  Babe)  Now  cheer  up,  for  I'll  be  down  there  with  you  in  a 
few  days  to  look  after  ye  and  then  we'll  be  goin'  to  the  Cliff  House 
(crooningly  to  divert  her  grief),  an'  the  theatre,  an'  to  Woodward's 
Gardens.  My,  what  a  grand  time  we'll  be  havin' !  No  more  sagebrush 
then  an'  alkali. 

BABE  (sighing)  :  Yes,  I  know,  but  even  a  few  days  is  a  long  time 
to  be  away  from  you. 

STEVE  (objecting)  :  No,  'taint,  any  such  thing !  Only  you've  got  to 
be  keerful.  By  the  way  (pauses,  unbelts  the  revolver  from  his  waist)  here 
(impulsively)  take  this! 

BABE  :     What  ?     Your  six  shooter  ?     Won't  you  need  it  ? 

STEVE:  Of  course  not,  I've  got  another!  (Babe  puts  it  in  her 
satchel.)  Now,  look-a-here,  if  any  feller  gets  fresh,  ye  jest  take  it  out — 


XXII 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 


kind  o'  keerless-like.  hut  let  him  see  y've  got  it,  an  it  11  set  him  tc >  thinkin 
thet  vc  ain't  no  slouch  atout  lookin'  out  for  yerself  The  11  gjve  him  a 
Roocl  scare.  < pauses  meditatively)  An  yet  (hits  himself  O  blow  ovei 
f£  /.rar/>  d'ye  know,  Babe,  I've  half  a  notion  to  take  you  back  with  me 
agam  "  It  is  such  an  awful  big  world  down  there  at  the  Bay.  And 
I'm  gettin'  scared  for  you,  already! 

B\BE  (childishlv):     Yes/ I  know,  hut  it  would  be  the  same  thing 
over  again.     The  boys  and  girls  would  go  on  calling  me  names,   i 
something  I  never  did. 

STEVE  (with  a  groan)  :     That's  true.     I'll  have  to  let  you  go. 

B\BE  (questioningly):  But,  Steve,  I'd  like  to  ask  you  a  question: 
\Yhat's  it  all  saddled  on" to  me  for?  That's  what  I  can't  understand  Be 
cause  my  mother  went— and  married— the  man— that  killed  my  father 
(pause)—  why  should  1  be  punished?  I  am  innocent! 

STEVE  (mildly)  :  Well,  there  is  something  in  the  Good  Book  about 
the  innocent  havin'  to  be  punished  for  the  guilty  to  the  third  and  fourth 
generations.  It  is  a  kind  of  cast-iron  rule  of  this  yere  airth  that  you 
can't  do  nothin'  with. 

BABE  (resentfully)  :  Well,  I  wish  I  had  the  makin'  o'  some  of  them 
cast-iron  rules!  I'd  rub  that  one  out,  pretty  quick. 

STEVE  (pityingly)  :  Well,  ye  see,  Babe,  that  was  got  up  to  make 
parents  behave  theirselves  for  the  sake  of  the  innocent,  so's  they'd  be 
ashamed  to  do  anything  wrong. 

UAIIE:  Well,  it  didn't  happen  to  work  in  my  case,  did  it?  (medi 
tates).  But  you  can  bet  that  I'm  never  going  to  do  anything  that  will 
make  my  poor  little  children  ashamed  of  me.  I'm  going  to  "walk -a 
chalk-line"  through  thick  and  thin  for  their  sakes,  just  like  I  wish  my 
mother  had  done  for  me. 

STEVE  (seriously)  :  If  there's  any  way  to  beat  that  rule,  I'll  bet 
that's  it.  You  stick  to  that,  Babe,  an'  you'll  come  out  all  right. 

(Clatter  of  hoofs  is  heard.  Man  on  small  black  mule  appears.  It  is 
Parson  Hager.) 

STEVE:  Hello,  Parson!  You're  just  in  time  to  say  good-bye  to 
the  little  gal.  She's  on  her  way  to  San  Francisco,  in  all  her  glory. 
(Parson  dismounts.) 

PARSON  HAGER  :  Do  you  think  it  is  safe  to  let  her  go  to  the  great 
city  all  alone?  (meditatively)  I  once  knew  of  a  girl  who  went  to  the 
city  alone,  and  her  father  never  saw  her  again. 

BABE  (winging  her  carpet-sack  restlessly) :  That's  all  settled. 
Parson.  You  know  how  everybody  throws  it  up  to  me  about  my 
troubles,  and,  besides  (pulling  up  her  sleeve)  see  what  my  step-father 
did  the  other  night,  when  he  had  been  drinking.  He  threw  something 
at  me  and  cut  my  wrist.  I  don't  want  to  go  back.  If  I  do,  I'll  run 
away  and  marry  the  first  man  that  asks  me,  just  to  get  away,  for  it's 
no  home  to  me!  I've  promised  Steve  to  be  a  good  girl  and  "walk  a 
chalk-line,"  and  he'll  be  down  in  a  few  weeks  to  look  out  for  me.  So 
there ! 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  xxiii 

STEVE  (meditating  anxiously)  :  Yes,  in  a  few  weeks.  Can't  you 
ask  a  blessing  for  the  little  gal,  to  keep  her  safe  ?  It  might  help ! 

PARSON  HAGER  (with  uplifted  hands)  :  Father  in  Heaven,  protect 
this  child  and  keep  her  safe  from  harm.  Amen !  (mounts  his  mule  and 

goes.) 

TOM  (calling  from  within)  :  Hurry  up,  Steve,  got  to  be  on  time ! 
Don't  forget  the  other  stage  has  to  connect  with  the  cars  at  Reno. 

STEVE  (holds  her  two  hands):  Now,  all  right?  Got  your  carpet- 
sack  and  your  six-shooter? 

(Babe  puts  her  hand  into  the  satchel  and  takes  pistol  out  with  a 
flourish.) 

BABE  (confidently)  :  When  I  get  below,  I'll  just  belt  it  on  and  let 
everybody  see  that  I  can  take  care  of  myself,  see  if  I  don't ! 

(Entrance  of  Tom,  the  other  stagedriver.) 

TOM  (coming  close  to  Steve  and  speaking  confidentially,  with  his 
hand  to  his  mouth,  for  secrecy)  :  Look  out  for  the  Wells-Fargo !  Got 
a  big  treasure  aboard  this  trip.  'Bout  ten  thousand,  I  guess. 

STEVE  (laughing)  :  That's  all  right.  Don't  you  worry  about  me, 
Tom,  I  ain't  going  to  give  it  to  the  first  feller  that  asks  me  for  it,  you 
can  bet !  (turns  to  Babe)  Good-bye,  little  gal,  just  for  a  few  weeks, 
till  I  can  get  down  there.  You  stop  at  the  Cosmopolitan  till  you  find  a 
nice  lady  to  board  with,  and  let  me  know,  right  away,  for  I'll  be  terrible 
lonesome,  you  know. 

BABE  (hanging  on  to  his  coat-sleeve  and  burying  her  face  against 
his  arm)  :  Good-bye,  Steve,  good-bye.  (Bill  grabs  her  carpet-bag,  which 
falls  to  the  ground,  takes  her  hand  and  drags  her  along.  She  and  Steve 
turn  for  another  zvave  of  the  hand  and  another  farewell.  She  goes  to 
the  stage  down  the  road.  Steve  goes  up  the  road.  Steve  is  heard  taking 
charge  of  his  horses.  Clatter  of  wheels  and  hoofs  of  horses.) 

(Voice  of  highwaymen)  :  Halt !  Throw  down  that  box,  and  be 
quick  about  it!  (stage  stops.  Shooting.  Cry  of  some  one  wounded. 
Confusion.  Struggle  is  heard.  Highwayman,  the  tall  one,  comes  in 
with  heavy  box.  Breaks  it  open  zvith  a  stone.  Pours  the  gold  into  a 
sack.  Other  man  comes  in  stumbling — falls  dead.  Tall  highwayman 
puts  hand  to  heart.) 

TALL  HIGHWAYMAN:  Dead!  So  that's  the  end  of  Bart!  Mustn't 
leave  any  papers,  (puts  his  hand  in  pocket,  draivs  out  papers  and  puts 
them  into  his  sack.  Lifts  and  places  body  under  the  bushes.  Lifts  sack. 
Drags  it  after  him  heavily.  Goes  to  rear  and  crawls  down  over  the  rocks 
to  place  of  safety,  down  below.) 

(Clatter  of  hoofs.    Parson  Hagcr  appears  on  mule  and  dismounts.) 

PARSON  HAGER  :  Shots  !  What  does  it  mean  ?  What  has  happened  ? 
(Hastens  in  direction  of  stage  up  road.  Returns,  assisting  Steve.) 

STEVE  (faintly)  :  They've  done  for  me  this  time.  I'll  never  go 
down  to  look  out  for  the  little  gal.  Oh,  God!  what'll  become  of  her? 
Parson,  promise  to  go  and  find  her !  (dies) 

(Parson  prays.) 


ACT  I.      Scene  I. 


(Wilier-front,  wharf,  San  Francisco,  arrival  of  ferryboat  from 
Oakland.  Crude,  primitive  landing.  Gang-plank.  Array  of  typical  San 
Franciscans  of  that  time.  Passing  off  and  on  the  boat.  Mingling  and 
meeting  during  the  progress  of  this  scene.) 

ENSEMBLE  OF  CHARACTERS  IN  THE  FOLLOWING  SCENE: 

(Elderly  lady,  Miss  Harrington,  wealthy  in  her  own  right,  and  her 
much  younger  brother,  Will  Harrington,  about  to  go  on  the  boat,  when 
they  meet  the  rich  and  aristocratic  Mrs.  Castleton  and  her  two  daughters 
coming  off.  As  these  two  zvomen  desire  to  make  a  match  between  the 
brother  and  one  of  the  daughters,  they  stop  to  talk.  Joining  the  group 
comes  Jim  Castleton,  a  young  society  man  of  not  good  reputation.  Coming 
off  the  boat  are  two  girls  together.  One  is  Lily  White,  a  pretty  saleslady 
in  a  fashionable  cloakstore;  and  to  this  pretty  girl  Castleton  nods 
familiarly.  With  her  is  her  friend,  Kate  Strong,  with  whom  Miss  Har 
rington  s  brother  is  in  love.  Already  Kate  has  refused  to  marry  him, 
ozving  to  his  sister's  strong  opposition,  because  Kate  is  a  clerk  in  the  land 
office.  Miss  Harrington  wishes  her  brother  to  marry  some  one  in  her 
own  social  set.  Emperor  Norton  passes  on  to  the  boat. 

A  youth  comes  to  meet  Kate  and  Lily.  It  is  Kate's  brother,  Malcolm 
Strong,  a  student  at  Hcald's  Business  College,  where  his  sister  is  paying 
his  way.  He  is  modest  and  unassuming,  a  nice  boy. 

Two  men  come  together,  Morton  the  reporter,  and  Belmour  the 
gambler,  down  the  gang-plank. 

Belmour  is  very  tall  and  fair  and  with  drooping  moustache,  wears  a 
fur-lined  overcoat.  Morton  is  dark  with  short  moustache.  Belmour  is 
inclined  to  be  grave,  Morton  to  be  serio-comic.  Both  men  wear  soft  hats 
of  the  so-called  "slouched"  variety.) 

MORTON  :  Let  us  wait  and  get  another  look  at  that  funny  child 
in  the  red  dress,  with  a  gun  belted  on  to  her.  I  never  saw  anything  quite 
as  queer  as  that  before. 

BELMOUR  (abstractedly):     She  looks  like  someone  I  used  to  know. 

MORTON  :     Must  be  some  one  very  innocent,     (laughs) 

BELMOUR:  She  has  the  eyes  of  my  little  sister  who  died  twenty 
years  ago. 

MORTON  :  Here  she  is,  and  the  hotel-runners  after  her.  (Babe  comes 
running  down  gang-plank,  dragging  her  valise  awa\  from  the  runners 
of  the  hotels.  Turns  on  them.) 

BABE  :     Don't  you  dare  to  touch  my  carpet-sack ! 

(Runners  close  in  around  her  calling:  "Russouse,"  "Wot  Cheer," 
"International  'Otel,"  "Lickouse." 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

ONE  OF  THEM:  Oh,  you'd  better  go  with  me,  my  clear,  I'll  take 
you  to  a  good  place. 

BABE:  I  guess  you  won't.  You  bet  I  can  take  care  of  myself. 
(snatches  her  valise  awa\  from  another  one,  who  tries  to  take  it.  Every 
body  looks.  Her  shawl  comes  off  and  she  throws  it  over  her  arm  while 
battling  to  get  her  carpet-sack  away  from  the  man  who  has  it  in  his  strong 
grasp.  Society  women  all  look  at  her  coldly.) 

HELMOUR  (advancing):  Drop  it.  (his  authority  and  cool  manner 
affect  them  instantly.  Each  runs,  calling  as  before,  the  name  of  the 
hotel  he  is  running  for  as  if  nothing  had  happened.) 

BABE  (turns  to  Bchnour,  gratefully):  I  thank  you  ever  so  much! 
Why,  I  thought  they  were  going  to  take  my  carpet-sack  away  from  me. 

BELMOUR  (coldly):     Where  is  it  you  want  to  go? 

BABE  (innocently):     Is  the  Cosmopolitan  Hotel  a  nice  place? 

(Belmour  turns  and  looks  at  the  group  of  ladies  near,  but  they  be 
gin  talking  among  themselves  again,  pointedly,  so  as  not  to  be  consulted. 
Belmour  turns  to  Morton.) 

BELMOUR  (to  Morton)  :      It  is  no  place  for  a  child  to  be  alone. 

MORTON  :     Where  is  she  from  ? 

BELMOUR:     You'd  better  ask  her. 

MORTON:     Where  arc  you  from,  Miss? 

BABE  (on  guard)  :     That's  my  business,  if  you  please. 

MORTON  (laughing)  :  And  have  you  any  name,  or  do  you  expect 
to  get  along  without  one  2 

BABE  (guardedly)  :  No,  I  don't  mind  telling  my  name.  It  is  Miss 
Robinson.  (Belmour  and  Morton  discuss  what  to  do.) 

(Enter  a  handsome  woman,  Mollie  Darling.  She  stands,  looking  on, 
from  one  side.) 

MOLLIE:  So  he  has  arrived  at  last!  \Vhat  is  he  doing  with  that 
child?  (a  Key-man  lumbers  into  sight  with  a  big  bunch  of  keys  on  his 
back  and  another  in  his  hands.  The  Irish  woman,  Mrs.  Spongier,  comes 
off  the  boat  with  her  son  Bobby,  a  big,  flashily-dressed  fellow.  They 
stop  on  seeing  the  Keyman.) 

KEYMAN:     Hello! 

BOBBY:  Hello  yourself,  Henry!  Any  news  about  me  gittin'  on  the 
force  ? 

KEYMAN:  Yes.  You  hang  around  here  a  minit  an'  watch  me 
doin'  politics.  Maloney's  down  here  now. 

(Maloney  comes  to  the  center  and  bozvs  to  Miss  Harrington. 

Mrs.  Spangler,  mother  of  Bobby,  in  a  transport  of  joy.) 

BOBBY:     What!     Maloney? 

KEYMAN:  Yep!  Boss  of  'em  all!  If  I  could  only  git  ye  inter- 
dooced  to  'im  by  a  gent  you'd  be  fixed.  You'd  git  "on  the  force"  all 
right. 

MRS.  SPANGLER:     Oh,  Hennery! 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  27 


(Enters  Al  Kercheval,  a  weakling,  son  of  rich  parents,  in  tow  of  a 
rounder.  He  is  dressed  like  a  dude.  The  man  he  is  with  is  a  capper, 
showing  him  around.  The  Keynian  recognizes  the  capper.) 

KEYMAN  :  Here's  your  chanct,  Bobby,  I  knows  dat  guy.  Come 
along.  He's  a  pal  o'  mine.  Jest  you  mind  me,  an'  I'll  git  ye  inter  good 
sassiety  with  them  high-toned  fellers,  (to  capper)  Dat  you,  Frenchy? 
Want  ye  to  do  a  favor  fer  a  fren'  o'  mine. 

CAPPER:     Hello,  Hennery!     Wot  d'ye  want? 

KEYMAN  :  I  don't  want  nothin'  fer  myself  (scowling),  but  I  want 
ye  to  interdooce  my  fren',  Robert  Spangler — him  an'  me  went  to  school 
together — to  Maloney. 

CAPPER  :     Ye  don't  want  much,  do  ye  ?    Interdooce  him  to  Maloney  ? 

KEYMAN:  Ye  see,  he  wants  a  job  on  the  force,  so's  to  help  his 
poor  old  mudder.  You  interdooce  this  dude  o'  yours,  ye  picked  up  some- 
wheres  an'  then  my  fren'  right  after  him,  like  they  was  brothers. 

CAPPER  (laughing)  :  Brothers !  That's  a  good  one !  And  may*  be 
you  want  to  count  in  too  as  triplets? 

KEYMAN  :  No,  I  don't.  I'd  give  the  hull  thing  away,  by  bein' 
around.  I'll  make  myself  scarce,  and  leave  it  all  to  you.  If  you  don't, 
I'll  go -tell  that  feller  ye  picked  up  somewheres  a  few  things  'bout  you. 

FRENCHY  THE  CAPPER  (putting  up  a  hand  to  hush  him  up)  :  Sh ! 
Leave  that  to  me.  I'll  do  it  up  brown,  (he  introduces  the  Irish  boy  to 
the  young  dude  and  presently  they  go  forward  and  intercept  Maloney, 
who  holds  the  center  of  the  stage,  an  object  of  general  admiration.) 

FRENCHY  (continuing)  :  Good  day,  Mr.  Maloney,  may  I  present 
two  friends  of  mine,  who  are  very  anxious  to  meet  such  a  man  as  your 
self?  This  is  Mr.  Kercheval  of  Sacramento,  visiting  our  city  for  the 
first  time.  And  this  is  Mr.  Spangler,  an  old  school-mate,  and  he  wants 
to  get  on  the  force.  Ye  see,  he  is  a  Native  Son,  and  he  wants  to  help 
his  old  mother  along. 

MALONEY  (benevolently):  Quite  right,  my  son,  quite  right!  I'll 
see  what  we  can  do  for  you.  (shakes  hands  with  both.  They  fall  back, 
each  to  his  place.) 

MOLLIE  :  That  young  fellow  must  have  some  money  to  throw 
around,  or  George  would  not  be  wasting  his  time  on  him,  (Capper  and 
Kercheval  pass  near  her,  and  she  says  softly:  "Hoiv  are  you,  George?" 
Capper  returns  and  introduces  Kercheval.) 

CAPPER  :  Shall  I  bring  my  good  friend  around  to  see  you  tonight, 
at  the  hotel?  I  see  Belmour's  returned  from  his  mining-trip.  What's  he 
doing  with  the  kid  and  the  carpet-sack?  Looks  too  funny  for  anything! 

MOLLIE  :     Yes,  doesn't  it  ?    But  he  generally  knows  what  he's  about. 

(Passing  near  her,  going  to  the  boat,  is  a  woman,  in  severe  costume 
of  Quaker  gray,  and  beside  her  a  trained  nurse.  The  latter  is  very  hand 
some,  but  subdued  in  manner.  Mollie  draws  back  as  she  and  the  nurse 
face  each  other  for  a  brief  second.) 

CAPPER  (looking  after  her)  :     Why,  that  is  Sister  Gertrude,  isn't  it  ? 
MOLLIE  (angrily)  :     Yes,  she  seems  to  dog  my  steps  wherever  I  go. 


28  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 


(As  the  tivo  women  pass  on.  Miss  Harrington  speaks  to  them  kindly, 
and  they  go  on  to  the  boat  nnobsen'ed  b\  Morton  whose  back  is  turned 
as  they  pass.  Jim  Castleton  and  Lily  exchange  a  word.  William  Har 
rington  tries  to  detain  Kate  and  her  brother.  Babe  stands,  looking  with 
round-eved  wonder  at  all  the  people.  As  Maloney  passes  her,  he  sees 
hoiv  innocent  she  is,  and  he  takes  off  his  hat  to  her  as  he  goes  up  the 
gang-plank.  Conversation  resumed  between  Morton  and  B  elm  our.) 

BELMOUR:  Now,  Morton,  being  a  reporter,  you  know  the  ins  and 
outs  of  the  city  better  than  1  do.  Certainly  you  know  some  place  where 
this  child  could  go,  better  than  to  a  public  hotel. 

MORTON  (sharpening  his  pencil) :  She's  too  old  for  the  Orphan 
Asylum  and  too  young  for  the  Old  Ladies'  Home.  Rather  guess  you've 
got  a  problem  on  your  hands,  old  man. 

BABE  (catching  this  conversation):  A  reporter!  H'm !  He'd  soon 
be  finding  out  why  I  left  home.  I'm  not  going  to  talk  to  that  man.  I 
don't  like  him  at  all  (childishly  petulant). 

MORTON  :  Oh,  I  have  it !  There's  an  old  school  teacher,  Miss 
Wiggins,  and  her  friend,  Sister  Gertrude,  a  trained  nurse,  they  could  tell 
you  what  to  do.  Here's  their  number  on  Howard  street,  (writes  ad 
dress  on  card.) 

BELMOUR:     That's  more  like  it.     I'll  take  her  there  myself. 

BABE:  But  why  can't  I  go  to  the  Cosmopolitan  Hotel?  My  friend 
Steve  thought  it  would  be  all  right,  and  he's  comin'  down  to  look  out  for 
me. 

BELMOUR   (coldly)  :     You  tell  her,  Morton. 

MORTON  :  Well,  because  it's  changed  hands  now,  Miss  Robinson. 
It's  a  kind  of  a  go-as-you-please!  'Taint  going  to  be  a  hotel  any  more. 
It's  been  sold  out  for  another  kind  of  business. 

BABE:     Oh,  I  don't  mind.     I'm  not  at  all  particular. 

MORTON:     Great  heavens!    What  are  you  going  to  do  with  her? 

BELMOUR  (resolutely)  :  I'm  going  to  take  her  to  your  Miss  Wig- 
gin*,  (takes  up  the  faded  carpet-sack  and  leads  the  way.  To  Babe) 
You  need  some  one  to  look  after  you.  The  hotel's  no  place  for  you. 

MORTON  (with  a  serio-comic  smile  and  lift  of  his  hat  in  mock 
politeness)  :  Good  afternoon,  Miss  Robinson. 

BABE  (with  great  assumption  of  dignity)  :  Good  afternoon,  Mr. 
Reporter,  (follows  Bclmour) 

MORTON  (looking  after  them  both)  :  Thank  Heaven,  it  is  none  of 
my  affair  (pauses),  and  yet,  I  can't  help  wondering  what  is  to  become 
of  her. 

(End  of  First  Scene,  First  Act.) 

SCENE  II. 

Parlor  of  Mollie  Darling,  Cosmopolitan   Hotel.     Evening. 
Enter  Mollie  and  Babe  together. 

MOLLIE:  Now  just  make  yourself  at  home,  my  dear,  and  may  be 
I'll  sing  for  you  after  a  while.  Are  you  fond  of  music? 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  29 


BABE:  H'm,  I  should  think  I  am!  Almost  as  fond  of  it  as  I  am 
of  reading,  only  not  quite,  (turns  to  book  held  in  her  hand,  with  finger 
keeping  place.)  I  never  read  a  book  like  this  before.  It's  kind  of  French, 
isn't  it?  (Reads  title)  Less  Miserables — queer  sort  of  name,  isn't  it? 

MOLLIE  (correcting  her  pronunciation)  :     Lay  Meesir-ah-ble. 

BABE  (obediently)  :  Lay  Meesir-ah-ble.  But  I  can  make  it  out  all 
right,  because  it  tells  about  a  poor  little  girl  and  a  good  man  who  looks 
out  for  her,  just  like  my  Steve. 

MOLLIE:  Shut  up  your  book  a  minute,  and  let's  have  a  talk,  all 
about  your  own  sweet  little  self. 

BABE  (sturdily)  :  No.  I  ain't  very  sweet,  I  can  tell  you  that,  right 
now,  but  I  can  look  out  for  myself,  you  can  bet,  and  that's  what  sweet 
people  can't  do. 

MOLLIE  (playfully,  shaking  her  finger  at  her)  :  With  a  great  big 
pistol  belted  on  to  your  waist,  like  you  were  when  I  saw  you  first,  today! 
(she  laughs  merrily) 

BABE  (mortified)  :     I  suppose  it  wasn't  quite  the  thing,  was  it  ? 

MOLLIE  :     No,  it  was  not  comme  il   faut. 

BABE  :     Oh,  you  can  talk  French  ? 

MOLLIE  :     How  do  you  know  it's  French  ? 

BABE  (cunningly)  :  Oh,  I  know  a  few  things.  I  am  not  as  green 
as  I  look.  I  can  say  "Donny  moy  de  pang  si  vous  plait,"  when  I'm 
hungry. 

MOLLIE  (laughs  and  pats  her  approvingly)  :  Now,  tell  me  what 
do  you  intend  to  do? 

BABE  :  Oh,  I'm  going  to  get  some  kind  of  work  to  do.  Steve  thinks 
I'm  a  baby,  but  I'll  show  him  I  can  take  of  myself. 

MOLLIE:     Who  is  this  Steve  you  speak  of? 

BABE:  Oh,  he's  a  kind  of  an  adopted  father  of  mine,  and  he's 
coming  down  in  a  few  weeks  to  look  after  me. 

MOLLIE:  How  would  you  like  to  stay  with  me?  You  would  not 
have  to  soil  your  hands,  but  keep  them  white  and  soft. 

BABE  (holding  up  her  hands  and  looking  at  them,  disapprovingly)  : 
Humph !  They've  never  been  white,  and  I  don't  care  if  they  ain't.  They're 
useful  hands,  (abruptly)  But  what  would  I  have  to  do? 

MOLLIE:  I  would  like  to  have  you  for  a  little  companion,  to  go 
shopping  with  me,  and  to  wait  on  me. 

BABE:     Would  you  learn  me  French? 

MOLLIE  (correcting  her)  :  Teach  you  French,  you  mean.  You 
would  have  to  do  the  learning. 

BABE  (subdued)  :     Yes,  teach.    Would  you  teach  me  French  ? 

MOLLIE:  Of  course,  I  would.  I  have  been  in  Paris,  and  they  say 
I  talk  like  a  native. 

BABE  (clapping  hands,  childishly)  :  Oh !  won't  that  be  fine !  How 
glad  I  am  that  that  Miss  Wiggins  and  that  Sister  Gertrude  were  not  at 
home  when  Mr.  Belmour  took  me  there  today. 


30  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

MOLLIE:     I'm  surprised  at  him,  for  they're  not  nice  people,  at  all. 

BABE:  How  glad  I  am  that  he  let  me  come  here,  or  I  should  never 
have  met  you.  Is  it  true  that  it  ain't  going  to  be  a  hotel  pretty  soon, 
that  it's  been  sold  out  for  another  kind  of  business? 

MOLLIE:     Who  told  you  that? 

BABE:  \Yliy.  Mr.  Belmour's  friend.  Me  said  it  was  no  place  for 
me  (looking  around  the  walls.)  But  1  don't  see  anything  the  matter.  You 
can't  believe  these  men. 

MOLLIE:  Of  course  not.  He  was  just  fooling.  Now  how  would 
you  like  it?  to  stay  with  me?  and  you  could  go  driving  with  me  in  my 
little  phaeton,  and  have  a  lovely  time.  But  you  would  have  to  change 
your  name  to  something  nice  and  stylish. 

BABE  (abruptlv):  Huh?  Change  my  name?  Oh,  no.  Steve  told 
me  not  to  do  anything  like  that.  He  said  it  was  like  a  snake  changing 
its  skin  every  year,  but  bein'  the  same  old  snake,  just  the  same. 

MOLLIE  (angry.  Gets  up  suddenly  and  drags  a  chair  out  of  its 
place  with  such  force  it  is  knocked  over.  Turns  to  her  again)  :  What  a 
simple  child  you  are!  You've  got  an  awful  lot  to  learn  if  you're  going 
to  stay  with  me ! 

BABE:     You  are  not  mad  at  me,  are  you,  Mollie? 

MOLLIE  (smiling)  :     Not  in  the  least. 

BABE  (hesitating):  It  does  not  seem  quite  right,  does  it?  that  I 
should  go  on  calling  you  just  "Mollie,"  but  you  see,  I  wasn't  introduced, 
and  so  I  don't  know  your  other  name. 

MOLLIE  (reserved  and  uncomfortable)  :  That's  all  right.  I'll  intro 
duce  myself:  Miss  Mary  Belle  Darling,  only  they  call  me  "Mollie." 

BABE:     What  a  pretty  name,  and  it  just  suits  you  too. 

MOLLIE  (slyly)  :  •  What  a  pity  your  name  isn't  Mabel  Sinclair.  That 
would  suit  you  to  a  T.  It  is  so  stylish !  And,  you  know,  you  have  to  be 
stylish  if  you  want  to  get  along  in  a  big  city  like  San  Francisco. 

BABE  (nonchalantly):  Oh!  I  don't  know!  Steve  doesn't  think  so. 
He  says,  "If  you  keep  on  the  chalk-line,  you'll  be  all  right." 

MOLLIE  (angrily)  :  You'll  have  to  stop  talking  about  "Steve"  if 
you're  going  to  stay  with  me.  He'll  spoil  all  your  chances  to  get  on, 
I  can  tell  you.  He  is  nothing  but  an  old  fogy.  The  times  have  changed 
since  he  was  young. 

BABE  (opening  her  book,  irresolutely)  :  That's  all  right,  but  I 
wouldn't  give  up  my  Steve  for  the  whole  world!  So,  I'll  hurry  up  and 
finish  the  book  and  give  it  back  to  you,  Miss  Darling. 

MOLLIE  (changing  at  once)  :  Oh !  I  was  only  saying  that  to  try 
you.  Of  course,  he  is  all  right,  and  a  pretty  fine  man,  I  should  judge, 
by  all  you  say  of  him.  Now,  I  am  going  to  have  company,  to-night,  so 
you  just  sit  down  and  read  your  book  in  peace,  (knock  at  the  door,  Babe 
pays  no  attention.  Finds  a  corner  on  a  sofa,  and  curls  herself  up  over  her 
book  and  becomes  so  abstracted  she  hears  no  one  and  sees  no  one.  Enter 
George,  Frenchy  the  capper,  and  Alf  Kercheval.  Give  greetings  and 
suggest  a  game  of  cards.  Mollie  gets  out  a  card-table  and  sets  the  chairs. 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  31 

Another  knock  is  heard..  Enter  Morton,  asking  for  Belmour.  Mollie 
explains  that  he  will  be  back  presently.  Invites  Morton  in.  He  looks 
around  and  sees  Babe.) 

MORTON  (aside)  :  I  thought  so.  Miss  Wiggins  was  not  at  home, 
and  so  she  insisted  on  coming  here.  Even  a  sportsman  will  give  a  bird 
one  chance  for  its  life !  I  promise  that  I  will  give  her  two.  I  will  wait  here 
till  Belmour  comes,  so  I  might  as  well  join  in  the  game,  (keeps  looking 
at  Babe,  who  is  absorbed  in  her  book.) 

MOLLIE:  We  ought  to  have  one  more  hand,  (goes  over  to  the 
sofa  and  rouses  Babe,  and  draws  her  forward  to  introduce  her.)  Gentle 
men  !  This  is  my  little  cousin,  and  her  name  is  Mabel  Sinclair. 

BABE  (as  if  startled  into  defiance,  gives  her  hair  a  shake  out  of  her 
eyes,  and  throws  back  her  head)  :  No,  you  don't,  Mollie !  I'm  nobody's 
cousin,  and  my  name  is  Babe  Robinson. 

MOLLIE  (laughing)  :  That's  just  a  little  joke  of  mine.  Sit  down 
and  talk  to  Mr.  Kercheval,  a  minute.  He's  from  Sacramento. 

BABE  (still  with  book  in  hand)  :  Oh,  from  Sacramento !  They  have 
lovely  roses  there,  haven't  they? 

KERCHEVAL:  Ya-as — roses — doncher — know?  (he  slips  his  fin 
gers  into  his  collar,  and  rubs  his  neck  against  it  with  a  nervous  tzuist.) 

BABE  :     How  long  since  you  came  from  there  ? 

KERCHEVAL  (with  halting  utterance,  in  a  high  pitched  voice)  :  I 
came  down — I  came  down — doncher  know  !  Well,  I  ran  away — doncher 
know.  It  ain't  no  good  to  stay  up  there,  and  have  my  father  send  me 
to  school — and  college — and  all  those  things — yes !  when  I  can  run  away, 
and  see  the  world,  yes,  see  the  world  (voice  runs  down  to  faintness.) 

BABE:  Did  you  run  away  from  home  because  your  folks  was  real 
miserable,  and  you  couldn't  stand  it  no  longer? 

KERCHEVAL  (with  a  vacant  laugh)  :  Oh,  no !  They're  real  rich 
and  all  I've  got  to  do  is  to  telegraph  for  more  money. 

BABE  :     Oh !  I  should  think  your  mother  would  feel  awful. 

FRENCHY  THE  CAPPER  :  Which  shall  it  be,  Mr.  Kercheval,  euchre 
or  whist?  (he  shuffles  the  cards.) 

KERCHEVAL  (coming  to  table)  :  I  ain't  much  on  whist,  but  I'm 
pretty  slick  on  poker. 

MOLLIE  :     Come,  Babe,  sit  next  to  me. 

MORTON  :     Babe !    What  a  name.    Still  it  seems  to  suit  her,  somehow. 

CAPPER:  Come,  help  us  out,  we  need  you,  little  one.  (he  shuffles 
cards.) 

BABE  (wonderingly)  :  Cards?  Do  you  play  cards  in  the  city? 
Why !  I  thought  that  nobody  but  poor  wretches,  who  got  landed  high-and- 
dry  in  a  played-out  mining-camp,  ever  played  cards  'cause  there  was 
nothing  else  to  do.  Oh,  I  hate  the  sight  of  'em,  and  I  promised  Steve 
never  to  touch  one,  if  I  died  for  it.  He  said  they  were  the  devil's  visit 
ing  cards. 

(Capper  and  Mollie  arise  and  shozv  signs  of  sudden  anger.) 


32  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBIXSOX 

KERCH EVAL  (with  knowing  waggle  of  his  head):  I  ain't  afraid  of 
him.  no,  I  ain't  afraid  of  him.  The  devil  can't  scare  me — 'cause  there 
ain't  no  devil. 

CAPPER  (clapping  /«'"'  on  tnc  back) :  You're  a  brick,  Kercheval. 
Good  for  you !  (Babe  goes  back  to  the  sofa  and  her  book  as  before.) 

MORTON  (aside):  Can't  I  make  something  happen — somehow?  I 
never  felt  so  helpless  in  my  life. 

CAPPER  (resuming  his  play):  Oh,  let's  make  it  a  dollar  a  chip. 
There  isn't  much  excitement  in  just  playing  for  fun. 

KERCHEVAL:  It's  all  right,  doncher  know?  (he  puts  his  hand  in 
his  pocket  and  takes  out  a  couple  of  twenties  and  puts  them  on  the  table. 
Mollies  eyes  glitter. 

Enter  Behnour.  He  is  very  pale  and  tired-looking  but  more  alert 
mentallv  than  ever.  They  all  greet  him  noisily,  save  Morton,  who  rises 
and  stands,  waiting  for  a  chance  to  speak  to  him  aside.) 

BELMOUR  (rubbing  his  hands  together)  :  I'm  chilled  by  the  night- 
wind.  This  is  a  devil  of  a  climate.  Haven't  you  anything  warm? 

(Mollie  gets  decanters  and  glasses,  passes  around  to  the  men,  who 
all  drink,  save  Morton,  who  still  stands.  Cigars  are  lighted.  Mollie 
takes  a  cigarette.  Babe  lost  in  her  book,  comes  to  a  touching  part  where 
poor  little  Cosette  is  in  danger  of  losing  her  good  man  by  his  bcing> 
buried  alive  in  the  coffin.  She  cannot  restrain  herself  and  begins  to  sob.) 

BELMOUR:  What  the  devil  is  that  child  doing  here?  I  told  you, 
Mollie,  I  didn't  want  her  around. 

MOLLIE  (lays  down  her  cigarette,  goes  to  her  side  and  pets  her 
affectionately) :  '  \Yhy,  Babe,  crying  over  a  book  as  if  you  did  not  have 
troubles  enough  of  your  own  to  cry  over.  There,  there ! 

MORTON:     I'd  like  to  speak  to  you  a  minute,  Belmour. 

BELMOUR  (turns  to  him.  Others  chat  to  themselves)  :  What  is  it, 
Morton? 

MORTON:  Say,  look  here!  I  thought  you  were  going  to  do  dif 
ferently  by  the  child.  See  how  young  and  innocent  she  is.  She  ought 
not  to  be 'here.  You  said  she  had  the  eyes  of  your  little  sister.  Now 
you  wouldn't  want  a  sister  of  yours  to  wind  up  like  this,  would  you  ? 

BELMOUR  (impassively):  I  tried  to  find  your  Miss  Wiggins.  It 
was  no  use.  The  child  was  determined  to  come  here.  I  tried  to  keep 
her  away  from  Mollie.  She  walked  straight  into  her  arms.  Don't  you 
see  it  is  Fate?  We  may  as  well  give  it  up. 

BAKE  (recovering):  I  know  I'm  awful  foolish,  but  I  was  just 
thinking  about  that  poor  little  Cossety. 

MOLLIE  (correcting)  :     Cosette. 

BABE  (obediently)  :     Cosette. 

FRENCH Y  THE  CAPPER:  There,  take  the  evening  paper  to  read, 
little  one.  (he  hands  over  one  that  he  takes  out  of  his  pocket.  Maybe 
you'll  find  something  in  it  to  make  you  laugh,  (sings  from  the  opera 
of  "Lucretia  Borgia:")  "It  is  better  to  laugh  than  be  sighing."  (Mor 
ton  still  stands,  irresolute.  The  others  sit  at  the  card-table.) 


SOClh'lY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  33 

MOLLIE  (to  Bclmour)  :     What's  the  matter?     Yon  look  so  strange. 

BELMOUR  (dealing  the  cards  with  a  graceful  movement) :  I've 
taken  a  bad  cold  on  my  lungs,  but  I  don't  think  it  is  going  to  be  fatal. 
(said  as  an  attempt  at  a  joke.) 

BABE  (reading  the  paper,  gives  a  terrible,  sharp  scream) :  Oh ! 
Oh!  Oh!  It's  my  Steve,  my  Steve!  He's  dead!  He's  been  killed  by 
a  stage-robber !  What  shall  I  do !  (buries  her  head  in  her  arm  on  the 
sofa-arm.  All  are  shocked  save  Kercheval  who  smiles  inanely.) 

CAPPER  (explaining)  :  Of  course,  I'd  no  idea — I  knew  there 
was  a  newr  stage  hold-up  on  the  Wellington  road  away  up  in  Nevada, 
but  how  was  I  to  know  where  she  came  from? 

MORTON  (going  over  to  her,  trying  to  win  her  confidence)  :  But 
what  has  this  to  do  with  you,  Miss  Robinson? 

BABE  :  It  was  my  Steve — my  friend — my  adopted  father,  who  has 
known  me  since  I  was  a  baby,  and  he  was  coming  down  here  to  look 
after  me — but  now  there  is  no  one !  (her  tears  start  afresh,  and  she 
feels  in  her  pocket  for  the  handkerchief  which  is  not  there.) 

MORTON  (pressing  his  fresh  pocket-handkerchief  into  her  hand.) 
(aside)  :  As  long  as  she  hangs  on  to  my  handkerchief,  I'm  going  to 
hang  on  to  her.  It  shall  be  a  bond  between  us.  (he  turns  to  Belmour) 
Fate  is  a  curious  thing,  Belmour,  isn't  it?  You  know  we  were  just 
speaking  of  fate.  To  think  of  there  being  just  one  man  in  the  whole 
world  standing  between  little  Miss  Robinson  here,  and  the  world — let 
us  say — and,  by  a  singular  fatality  some  ordinary  ruffian  going  to  work 
and  selecting  that  particular  stage,  and  taking  off  that  one  man  of  all 
men !  By  Jove !  I  don't  know  what  you  think  about  it,  but  I  call  it 
mighty  rough. 

(The  neivspaper  is  being  passed  around.) 

BELMOUR  :  I  don't  feel  like  cards  tonight.  This  cold's  getting  worse. 
What  do  you  do  for  a  cold,  anyway? 

KERCHEVAL  (in  a  high  key)  :  Whiskey's  pretty  good !  My  father's 
a  doctor,  and  he  always  takes  whiskey. 

(Morton  turns  back  to  Babe.  She  has  assumed  stolidity.  Offers  him 
back  his  handkerchief.) 

MORTON  (indulgently)  :  I  want  you  to  keep  it.  I  was  in  hopes 
it  would  be  a  kind  of  a  bond  between  us,  and  that  it  would  help  you  to 
know  and  understand  that  I  wanted  to  be  your  friend. 

BABE:  I'm  sorry,  but  somehow  I  don't  seem  to  like  you,  Mr. 
Morton.  You  tried  to  deceive  me,  and  keep  me  from  coming  here. 
Mollie  told  me  you  were  just  fooling,  and  that  your  Miss  Wiggins  and 
Sister  Gertrude  were  not  nice  at  all. 

MORTON  (suddenly)  :  Don't  you  know  that  Mollie  lies  ?  That  her 
hellish  face  is  painted,  and  that  this  is  no  place  for  a  child  like  you? 
Steve  wouldn't  like  it  at  all.  (Babe  is  stunned.  She  still  thinks  he  is 
fooling,  but  gives  a  look  at  Mollie.  Near  the  piano  stand  Belmour,  Mollie 
and  the  capper.) 

MOLLIE:  That  young  one  is  simply  awful.  But  I'll  break  her  in, 
in  a  day  or  two. 


34  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

CAPPER:  With  that  innocent  air  of  hers,  she'll  be  worth  thousands 
to  us. 

BELMOUR  (in  suppressed  anger)  :  I  won't  have  her  around.  She 
shall  leave  the  hotel  tomorrow. 

MOLLIE  (surprised)  :     But  I've  taken  a  fancy  to  her. 

BELMOUR  (fiercely)  :  And  I  say  she  leaves  here  tomorrow,  damn 
you! 

(Knock  at  the  door.  Bell-boy  enters,  with  card,  which  he  hands  to 
Belmour.) 

MOLLIE  (crossly)  :     Who  is  it  that  comes  so  late  ? 

BELMOUR  (with  hand  up  for  silence)  :     Hush !     It  is  a  lady. 

(Enter  ladv  of  prim  appearance  in  gray  garments,  with  gray  hair.) 

Miss  WIGGINS  (advancing    to    Belmour)  :     Is   this    the    gentleman 

who  left  a  note  for  Miss  Wiggins?     I  know  it  is  late,  but  I  only  arrived 
at  home  a  few  moments  ago,  and  decided  to  come  at  once. 

(Babe  is  scanning  the  faces  of  them  all.  She  is  amazed  to  sec  how 
pale  every  one  is  but  Afollie.) 

BELMOUR  :  I  thank  you  for  coming.  The  child  is  here.  I  want 
you  to  take  her  away  with  you.  (he  puts  his  hand  into  his  pocket  and 
draws  out  a  handful  of  twenties,  and  offers  them  to  her.)  When  you 
need  more,  let  me  know. 

Miss  WIGGINS:  I  am  poor,  it  is  true,  but  I  came  to  befriend  the 
child  without  any  thought  of  compensation. 

BELMOUR  :  I  am  aware  of  that,  madam.  Take  it  and  put  it  in 
your  bag  for  her.  (she  accepts  it.  He  turns  around,  peremptorily) 
Mollie!  Make  that  child  put  on  her  things  and  go  with  Miss  Wiggins 
at  once! 

MOLLIE:     What?     Now?     So  late!     It  is  twelve  o'clock! 
BELMOUR  (fiercely)  :     Do  as  I  tell  you ! 

MORTON  (aside)  :  Who  would  have  ever  taken  Miss  Wiggins  for 
an  angel  in  disguise! 

MOLLIE  (to  Babe,  unwillingly)  :  Come,  Babe,  the  lady  has  come 
to  take  you  away.  Belmour  says  you  are  to  go  with  her. 

BABE  (stupidly)  :  What  ?  Not  to  go  away  from  you,  Mollie  ?  Does 
he  say  that?  (She  is  puzzled.) 

MOLLIE  (sullenly)  :     That's  what  he  says. 

BABE  (looking  from  one  face  to  another)  :     Not  now  ? 

BELMOUR  (sternly)  :     Yes,  the  sooner,  the  better. 

MORTON  (aside) :  Great  Jehosaphat !  The  stupidity  of  innocence 
simply  surpasses  belief! 

Miss  WIGGINS  (advancing  and  putting  her  hand  on  the  girl's 
shoulder,  gently)  :  I  am  sure,  dear  child,  the  gentleman  speaks  nothing 
but  the  truth.  This  is  not  a  place  for  a  young  girl  like  you. 

BABE  (beginning  to  tremble,  as  the  reality  dawns  on  her)  :  Why, 
I'm  «o  dazed,  reading  the  book  and  seeing  so  many  strange  faces  that 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  35 

it  seems  as  if  I  was  in  a  kind  of  dream ;  and  perhaps  it  is  a  horrible 
dream — all  of  it — and  my  Steve  is  not  dead,  after  all. 

Miss  WIGGINS  (kindly,  but  firmly)  :  Come,  my  child,  get  your 
hat  and  come  with  me. 

BABE  (looks  around  from  face  to  face,  coming  to  that  of  Mollie, 
last  of  all.  She  sees  there  the  paint  and  the  mocking  smile.  She  turns 
to  Miss  Wiggins  and  clings  to  her  arm)  :  Oh !  take  me  away !  It  isn't 
a  terrible  dream.  It  is  true,  all  of  it.  (door  opens,  Sister  Gertrude 
enters.  Babe  runs  to  her.  The  two  women  lead  her  from  the  room. 
The  capper  and  Kercheval  and  Morton  take  their  leave  and  go.  Mollie 
and  Belmour  are  left  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  facing  each 
other.) 

MOLLIE:     Why  did  you  take  so  much  trouble  about  this  little  fool? 

BELMOUR:     She  reminded  me  of  some  one. 

MOLLIE  :  Bah !  I  know  you've  been  away  somewhere,  and  you 
have  come  back  with  plenty  of  money.  You  were  pale  as  death,  tonight. 
What  does  it  mean?  You  were  afraid,  you  were  afraid.  Don't  you  fool 
yourself.  I  know  as  well  as  if  you  had  told  me  why  you  sent  her  away. 
You  are  afraid.  You  are  afraid. 

BELMOUR  :  You  devil !  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  stand  your 
vile  temper  much  longer? 

MOLLIE  :  That's  it !  Get  me  started !  Have  me  tell  you  the  whole 
story,  for  though  you've  fooled  the  detectives  you  can't  fool  me.  (she 
makes  a  sudden  move.  Drops  down  in  front  of  him,  puts  her  head  close 
to  the  floor.  Then  springs  up,  alert  and  triumphant.}  I  know  where 
you've  been.  I  can  smell  the  sage-brush  on  your  boots.  You've  been 
to  Nevada. 

BELMOUR  (with  sudden  move  toward  her,  then  restrains  himself, 
hoarsely  spoken)  :  Well !  what  do  you  mean  to  do  about  it  ? 

MOLLIE:  That  depends  on  you.  I  could  do  almost  anything  if 
you  should  leave  me,  as  you  sometimes  threaten.  I  don't  propose  to 
come  down  in  the  world  and  be  kicked  about  from  pillar  to  post.  We 
get  along,  all  right.  Why  shouldn't  we  keep  it  up?  I  mean  that  you 
shall  stay  with  me.  That's  what  I  mean — that  you  shall  never  leave  me 
now! 

BELMOUR  (sinking  into  a  chair  weakly,  holding  a  handkerchief  to  his 
lips.  As  he  catches  it  away,  there  is  a  crimson  stain  upon  it)  :  Very 
well. 

MOLLIE  (springing  to  his  side):  What  is  that?  Oh,  poor  Robert! 
(applies  remedies.)  I'll  nurse  you !  I'll  take  good  care  of  you. 
(significantly.)  Remember,  that  as  long  as  you  stay  with  me,  you  will 
be  perfectly  safe. 

(End  of  Scene.) 

SCENE  III. 

(Hotel  corridor.  Morton  waiting  and  walking  up  and  down.  Enter 
Miss  Wiggins  and  Sister  Gertrude,  with  Babe  sobbing.  Miss  Wiggins 
has  the  old  carpet-sack.) 


36  SOCIETY    AND    BADE    ROBINSON 

Miss  WIGGINS:  Oh,  dear!  The  poor  little  thing  has  been  crying 
so,  we  haven't  a  dry  handkerchief  left. 

MORTON  :     Let  me  carry  that  for  you  to  the  cars. 

Miss  WIGGINS:     Be  careful!    There's  a  horrid  pistol  in  it. 

BABE  (rousing  up)  :  I  don't  want  that  old  pistol  any  more.  It's  no 
good.  That  don't  help  you  any  to  take  care  of  yourself. 

Miss  WIGGINS:  That's  just  what  I've  been  telling  her.  Won't  you 
take  it,  Mr.  Morton,  and  keep  it  for  us? 

BABE  (childishly) :  Yes,  please.  It  was  Steve's ;  but  I'd  rather 
you'd  have  it. 

SISTER  GERTRUDE  (getting  it  out,  and  passing  it  over  to  him)  :  I'm 
sure  it  will  be  best  for  all  of  us,  for  Miss  Wriggins  is  not  at  all  well, 
and  it  makes  her  very  nervous  to  have  it  around. 

MORTON  (putting  the  si.v-shooter  into  his  pocket)  :  Ah!  what  would 
we  do  without  women  like  you  in  this  old  world?  You  are  the  salt  of 
the  earth,  that's  sure,  (to  Babe,  cheeringly.)  Don't  you  worry,  little  Miss 
Robinson,  as  long  as  you  have  friends  like  these,  you  are  perfectly  safe. 
(Takes  up  carpet-sack,  and  walks  along  with  them.) 

(End  of  First  Act,  Third  Scene.) 

(Lapse   of   One   Year.) 


ACT  II. -Scene  I. 


(Manning's  Oyster  Grotto.  Street  scene,  Pine  betiveen  Montgomery 
and  Kearny.  Bohemian  Club.  Art  Association.  Market  on  ground- 
floor.  People  coming  out  and  going  in.  Jim  Castleton  and  Harrington 
meet  Lily  White  and  Kate  Strong.  Jim  puts  a  ring  on  Lily's  hand  Kate 
says  "No"  to  Harrington,  as  before.  Emperor  Norton  walks  along,  in 
full  regalia.  Stops,  and  gives  a  child  the  button-hole-bouquet,  from  his 
lapel.  The  Key  man  comes  shuffling  along,  stops  to  look  at  some  laborers 
in  the  street.  They  put  down  their  dinner  pails.  Along  comes  a  very 
poor  specimen  of  a  youth,  tattered  and  torn.  It  is  Al  Kercheval.  He 
stops  and  looks  at  these  dinner  pails,  goes  up  to  one,  and  takes  out  a 
piece  of  bread,  turns  around  to  eat  it  while  looking  in  the  window  of  the 
restaurant.) 

KEYMAN  (going  up  to  him  and  giving  him  a  slap  on  the  back)  : 
Knowed  ye  the  minit  I  seen  ye.  Wot  ye  doin'? 

KERCHEVAL  (frightened)  :     Don't  tell  on  me.     I'm  seein'  the  world! 

KEYMAN:  Yes,  ye  are!  Like  a  little  lamb.  Where's  yer  fren'? 
Where's  Frenchy,  the  capper? 

KERCHEVAL:  Sh!  (looking  around,  piteously.)  A  sailor  stabbed 
him  with  a  knife,  an'  I  run  away. 

KEYMAN  :  But  you !  you're  a  gent !  You  can  talk  to  Maloney. 
Wot  d'ye  say  ?  Come  along  wid  me  an'  help  my  fren'  to  git  on  de  force, 
and  I'll  look  out  for  ye!  (waves  his  hand  to  some  one)  Here  he  is 
now.  (Bobby  Spongier,  in  flashy  clothes,  appears.)  Don't  you  'member 
him?  Ye  was  both  interdooced  to  Maloney  ter  wanst!  (to  Bobby.) 
Here's  the  swell  guy  that  kin  git  ye  on  de  force.  Let's  take  him  home 
and  dress  him  up  and  set  him  up  on  his  pins  again!  He's  a  gent,  he  is, 
but  he  don't  know  any  too  much  (tapping  his  forehead  significantly). 

KERCHEVAL  (protesting)  :  I'm  seein'  the  world,  Yaas,  I'm  seein' 
the  world. 

(Enter  two,  Bclmour,  with  his  hat  pulled  doivn  over  his  eyes,  over 
coat  pulled  up,  and  Mollie  Darling,  in  large  wrap,  concealing  her  figure, 
and  heavily  veiled.) 

KERCHEVAL  (smiles  inanely  at  them,  goes  up  and  extends  his  hand, 
and  drawls)  :  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Darling  ?  I  haven't  seen  you  for 
a  long  time.  No,  I  haven't  seen  you! 

MOLLIE  (lifting  her  veil)  :  Why,  it's  Mr.  Kercheval !  You  haven't 
been  having  very  good  luck  lately,  have  you?  You  must  let  me  give 
you  something. 

^KERCHEVAL  (protesting) :  No.  I  only  wanted  to  speak  to  you, 
that's  all,  and  here  are  my  friends,  (he  tries  to  tell  their  names.  Mollie 
smiles  on  them.) 


38  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

MOLLIE  (aside)  :  Robert !  Speak  to  them.  They  may  be  of  use 
to  us.  (Bclmour  shakes  hands  with  them.) 

MOLLIE:  You  must  come  and  see  me  soon.  Now,  remember,  (she 
puts  something  into  the  Keyman's  hand  for  Kcrchcval,  and  gives  him 
her  address.  Pulls  her  veil  down  again.) 

MOLLIE  (sweetly,  to  Keyman)  :  Take  good  care  of  Mr.  Kercheval. 
(to  Belmour.)  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  we  could  get  that  fellow  with  the 
keys  to  help  us.  He  looks  clever,  (policeman  passes,  views  them  closely) 

BELMOUR:     I  shall  not  come  out  again  and  run  such  a  risk  as  this. 

MOLLIE:  No,  we'll  have  to  be  more  careful,  and  you'll  have  to  go 
away  pretty  soon. 

BELMOUR  :     Yes,  but  where  ?    (they  depart.) 

KEYMAN:  I  ain't  a  wise  gezabo,  huh?  Never  said  a  word!  An' 
look !  See  what  she  gimme  fer  Kertch  !  That's  wot  comes  o'  bein'  in  wid 
a  gent. 

KERCHEVAL  (mildly  and  hesitatingly):     Are  we  pards? 

KEYMAN:  You  bet  we're  pards!  An'  now  I'm  goin'  ter  take  ye 
home  wid  me,  an'  learn  ye  the  key-biznes.  (the  two  go  out  together.) 

Mrs.  Spongier  comes  out  of  the  market  with  her  bundles,  and  Bobby 
goes  along  with  her. 

A  small  figure  appears,  coming  along  slowly.  It  is  Babe  Robin 
son,  in  a  shabby  frock,  with  circular  cape  and  small  sailor-hat  on  hef 
head.  She  is  very  pale.) 

BARE  (stopping  to  look  into  The  Grotto  window)  :  I  don't  know 
what  I'm  going  to  do  next.  It  is  always  bad  luck  for  me.  Maybe  it's 
no  good — my  walking  a  chalk  line!  Maybe  nothing  good  is  ever  going 
to  happen  to  me!  Why  should  I  be  punished!  I  am  innocent.  If  only 
I  could  get  something  to  eat !  Why  should  the  world  be  full  of  good 
things  for  everybody,  and  nothing  for  me? 

(Enter  Morton.    He  stops  and  looks  at  his  watch.) 

MORTON  :  I've  just  an  hour  to  spare.  The  hanging  is  at  one  o'clock. 
That  gives  me  time  for  my  lunch  and  a  smoke.  First,  it's  a  wedding, 
then  a  murder,  then  a  hanging.  Great  Jupiter!  What  a  way  for  a  man 
to  spend  his  life!  If  only  my  grandfather  had  not  started  on  that  law 
suit,  and  swamped  the  whole  family,  I  should  now  be  a  young  blood 
myself,  and  have  enjoyed  life  with  the  best  of  them.  Well!  \Vho  knows! 
We  may  win  it  yet.  (he  walks  to  the  entrance  of  the  Grotto.  Sees  thh 
girl  standing  there.  Begins  to  scan  her  and  then  walks  up  to  her.)  Why, 
bless  my  soul!  Is  this  little  Miss  Robinson? 

BABE  (gives  a  quick  look)  :     Yes,  it's  me,  Mr.  Morton. 

MORTON  :  Dear  me !  How  you've  changed  !  Where  are  those  good 
friends  of  yours,  Miss  Wiggins  and  Sister  Gertrude? 

BABE:  Miss  Wiggins  died  at  the  hospital,  six  months  ago,  and 
Sister  Gertrude  is  away,  traveling  with  a  patient. 

MORTON:     And  where  do  you  live  now? 

BABE:     Oh,  there's  a  good-natured   Irish   woman  lets  me  have  a 


SOCIETY   AND    BABE    ROBINSON  39 


little  room  at  her  house.    But  she's  very  poor  too,  and  can't  look  out  for 
me. 

MORTON:  I'm  going  in  to  luncheon  here.  Won't  you  come  in  and 
keep  me  company  ? 

BABE  (hesitating)  :  Is  it  a  real  nice  restaurant,  where  nice  ladies 
go? 

MORTON  (comprehending)  :  Why,  of  course !  The  best  ladies  and 
the  best  society  in  San  Francisco  come  here.  I'll  take  you  in,  and  show 
you  how  nice  they  are !  But  they  won't  let  a  man  go  upstairs,  not  if  he 
was  the  Governor  of  the  State  of  California,  nor  a  minister  of  the  gospel, 
to  sit  with  those  nice  folks,  unless  he  has  a  lady  with  him.  So  you  see, 
you'll  have  to  take  me  there,  otherwise  I'll  have  to  sit  down-stairs  with 
the  miserable  men.  (jokingly.  He  opens  the  door  and  waits  for  her  to 
pass  in.  She  smiles  wanly.) 

(End  of  First  Scene.) 

SCENE  II. 

(Restaurant  tables.  Morton  and  Babe  seek  a  table.  W hen  the 
shrimps*  are  set  before  them,  she  begins  to  tear  off  the  shells  and  eat  them 
eagerly,  with  big  bites  of  bread  and  butter.) 

BABE  (talking  nervously,  and  very  fast)  :  I  didn't  know  much  when 
I  came  down  here  last  year,  did  I,  Mr.  Morton  ?  But,  oh !  I  know  lots 
now,  and  I  tell  you,  it's  a  mighty  tough  world !  That's  what  it  is !  I've 
had  a  terrible  time,  since  my  darling  Miss  Wiggins  died.  I've  done  al 
most  everything.  I've  'tended  babies  and  run  errands,  and  yesterday 
I  tried  to  sew  some  shirts.  But  would  you  believe  it?  I  sewed  the 
sleeves  in  wrong,  and  the  man  wouldn't  pay  me,  of  course,  and  I — well, 
I  get  pretty  hungry.  It's  a  pity  that  a  good  dinner  like  this  can't  last  a 
week,  isn't  it?  If  only  we  didn't  have  to  eat!  Why,  that  is  the  greatest 
nuisance  of  it  all! 

MORTON  (perceiving  that  she  has  been  almost  starving)  :  And  are 
you  actually  alone?  Why,  where  are  Belmour  and  Mollie  Darling? 

BABE:  Oh,  I've  never  seen  anything  of  them  since  that  night.  It 
was  good  of  Mr.  Belmour  to  make  me  go  with  Miss  Wiggins,  and  pay 
my  board,  enough  for  six  months,  in  advance,  wasn't  it?  I'll  always  be 
grateful  to  him  for  that! 

MORTON  :  Yes,  that  was  pretty  white  of  Belmour !  By  the  way, 
have  you  ever  heard  anything  about  the  robber  who  killed  your  friend, 
Steve?  I  heard,  today,  something  about  it.  They  think  that  they  have 
got  on  his  trail.  You  know  that  there  is  a  five-thousand-dollar  reward 
for  him,  dead  or  alive,  and  somebody  wants  to  get  it! 

BABE:  I  hope  they  will  find  him.  A  man  like  that  ought  to  be 
made  to  suffer !  When  you  kill  anybody  for  money,  that's  awful ! 

MORTON  :  So  it  is !  (aside.)  Great  Jupiter !  My  conscience  is 
snowing  me  under,  I've  got  to  do  something  for  this  child.  Giving  her 
a  dinner  is  not  the  end  of  my  duty  in  this  matter.  Hang  it  all !  it  is  only 
the  beginning,  (to  Babe.)  If  my  mother  were  here — but  she's  in  New 

*It   was   the   custom   at  that  time  to   serve   shrimps  free  while  one   studied   the   bill   of   fare. 


40  SOCIETY    AND    BARE    ROBINSON 

York — she'd  know  what  to  do.  Why  don't  you  get  a  trade,  you  poor 
little  Miss  Robinson? 

BABE  (joyously)  :  Bring  on  your  trade!  I'll  learn  anything  any 
body  will  let  me. 

MORTON:  How  would  you  like  book-binding,  or  type-setting?  The 
only  trouble  is — how  would  you  live  till  you  learned  how? 

BABE:  I  can  manage  to  get  along  on  three  dollars  a  week.  Don't 
you  suppose  I  could  make  that  much? 

MORTON  :  Good  Lord !  And  I  spend  more  than  that  on  cigars  and 
drinks!  (he  looks  around.  Sees  people  he  knows,  but  to  whom  he 
could  not  introduce  his  poor  little  waif.  Marie  Castleton  gives  him  a 
nod,  but  her  mother  and  sisters  and  Miss  Harrington  ignore  him.  They 
are  too  stylish.  Then  a  business  woman,  Mrs.  Richmond,  comes  in.  Takes 
her  seat,  and  two  girls,  Kate  Strong  and  Lily  White,  arrive,  looking 
around  for  a  place  to  sit.) 

MRS.  RICHMOND:  Oh,  Miss  Strong,  come  here,  and  sit  with  me, 
and  your  friend,  too. 

BABE  (wonderingly)  :  I  know  them.  I  know  those  two  pretty 
young  ladies ;  but  they  don't  know  me !  They  live  in  the  same  house  that 
I  do,  with  Mrs.  Spangler.  Only  I  am  away  up  stairs,  in  the  attic. 

MORTON  (with  suppressed  emotion)  :  What  is  it,  Miss  Robinson, 
that  helps  you  to  keep  from  stealing,  or  anything  else,  when  you  get  so 
hungry  and  forlorn?  And  how  do  you  keep  up  your  courage? 

BABE  :  Because,  I've  never  done  anything  mean,  and  I  ain't  a-going 
to.  And  shall  I  tell  you  everything?  It's  because  I  don't  ever  want  to 
do  anything  that  will  make  my  poor  little  children  ashamed  of  me. 

MORTON:  Well  (he  hits  his  fist  on  the  table),  if  this  big  city  can't 
find  honest  work  for  a  child  like  you,  it  is  fit  for  the  fate  of  Sodom  and 
Gomorrah.  Do  you  see  that  lady  over  there?  I  know  her.  She  has 
a  co-operative  printing  business,  and  I  am  going  to  try  to  get  you  over 
to  that  table  where  you  belong,  with  those  young  ladies  that  you  know 
and  who  do  not  know  you,  though  they  live  under  the  same  roof !  Now 
you  just  watch  me  do  it,  for  I've  got  to  run  away  in  just  a  minute. 
(Morton  arises,  goes  over  to  the  table,  most  gracefully.) 

MORTON:  Why,  Mrs.  Richmond,  how  do  you  do?  (she  intro 
duces  Lily  White  and  Kate  Strong.  He  bows  and  smiles  with  all  his 
art.  His  manner  is  most  irresistible.)  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you, 
Mrs.  Richmond.  Can't  you  make  a  place  here  for  a  child  who  is  alone 
in  the  world,  and  let  her  learn  to  set  type  down  at  your  co-operative 
printing?  I'll  stand  sponsor  for  her? 

MRS.  RICHMOND  (business  woman) :  Of  course,  I  will,  Mr.  Mor 
ton,  for  you  have  done  many  a  favor  for  me.  Where  is  she? 

MORTON  :  Right  here.  Shall  I  bring  her  over  ?  And,  by  the  way, 
she  lives  in  the  same  house  with  Miss  White  and  Miss  Strong,  (he 
fetches  her  over.) 

Miss  STRONG:  So  she  does.  Poor  little  thing!  I  have  seen  her 
looking  over  the  banisters.  Haven't  you,  Lily? 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 


41 


LILY:     Why,  yes. 

MORTON  (introducing  them.  Aside):  My  God!  To  think  that 
this  is  left  to  me  to  do !  (to  Babe.)  But  I  must  go.  I  have  an  appoint 
ment  at  one.  Good-bye,  Miss  Robinson.  Good  afternoon,  ladies.  I  hope 
you  will  all  become  great  friends !  (aside,  as  he  reaches  the  door  and 
looks  back  once  more.)  The  child  is  no  longer  alone  in  the  world. 

(End  of  Act  Two,  Scene  Two.) 
(Lapse  of  Four  Months.) 


ACT  III.  -Scene  I. 


(Street  scene.  It  is  bright  morning.  Outside  of  rooming-house  of 
Mrs.  Spangler,  Hozuard  street  near  Fifth.  Three  stories  and  basement? 
of  dilapidated  house,  with  zvide  front  steps.  As  curtain  goes  up,  it  dis 
closes  Minerva,  a  tall,  lanky  girl,  Dickie  Gusset,  a  rough  boy,  Billy  Gusset, 
a  weak  little  fellow,  ahvays  tumbling  down,  Kree  Gusset,  a  lame  girl 
with  a  big  shoe  on  one  foot,  and  five  other  children  of  various  sizes  and 
sorts  playing  (CRing-a-round-a-Rosy"  in  front  of  Mrs.  Spangler's  rooming- 
house  for  poor  people.) 

MINERVA:     Oh,  let's  play  Old  Diggelly  Bones? 

CHORUS  (in  rapture)  :  Old  Diggelly  Bones !  (they  all  run  for  the 
steps  and  seat  themselves  in  expectation,  save  Minerva,  Dickie  and  Kree.) 

DICKIE  :     Me  !     Me !     I'm  goin'  ter  be  "old  Diggelly  Bones." 

MINERVA:     And  I'll  be  Big  Sister. 

CHORUS  :  No !  let  Kree  be  the  Sister.  She  knows  how  to  take  care 
of  children,  she  does ! 

MINERVA  :  All  right,  then,  I'll  be  the  mother,  (she  begins  to  name 
them  according  to  the  game.)  Monday,  Tuesday,  Wednesday,  Thursday, 
Friday,  Saturday  and  Sunday.  Now,  Big  Sister,  you  take  care  of  the 
children  and  don't  let  old  Diggelly  Bones  get  them.  (Minerva  goes  off.) 

DICKIE  (with  staccato  voice,  coming  forward)  :  Gimme  a  match !  to 
light  my  pipe,  or  else — 

(Door  opens  at  top  of  steps.  The  scrub-woman  appears,  Biddy  the 
Bogie,  Mrs.  Spangler 's  old  sister,  still  redolent  of  the  bogs  of  old  Ireland. 
She  is  a  witchlike  figure  with  head  tied  up  in  a  three-cornered  handker 
chief,  and  many  thick  petticoats  on,  and  a  ragged  apron  over  all,  as  if 
she  labored  under  the  hallucination  that  the  more  terrible  one  looks  while 
at  work  the  better  the  work  will  be  done.  She  has  pails  and  mops  and' 
brooms  ready  at  hand.  Is  very  stern  and  forbidding.  Waves  a  feather- 
duster  at  the  children,  who  become  very  angry  at  this  interruption  of 
their  dearly  beloved  game.) 

BIDDY,  THE  BOGIE  :  Whisht  wid  ye !  Go  away  at  wanst  and  lave  a 
buddy  in  pace !  Some  leddies  and  gents  is  comin'  an'  dey  can't  git  in ! 

(Children  raise  an  outcry  at  being  driven  away,  all  save  little  lame 
Kree  who  stands  apart  from  the  rest,  a  pathetic  figure.  Biddy  shakes  her 
fist  at  Dickie  who  defies  her.  Minerva,  in  revenge,  starts  a  new  game 
in  derision  of  the  poor  scrub-woman  and  presently  all  but  Kree  are  in 
couples  marching  up  and  doivn.  Kree  still  stands.) 

CHILDREN   (singing)  : 

Here  we  go,  two  by  two, 
Dressed  in  yeller,  pink  and  blue, 
Not  afraid  of  Boogie  Boo 
Here  she  comes  !     O-o-o-o-h  ! 


44  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

(Ending  with  a  pretended  scream  of  terror  as  they  run  down  the 
street.) 

BIDDY,  THE  BOGIE:  Now,  thin,  I'll  lave  me  things  here  an'  git  the 
rist  of  thim.  (Goes  within  and  closes  the  door.  As  she  does  so,  the 
children  all  rush  back  to  the  steps  and  begin  "Old  Diggclly  Bones"  again 
where  they  had  left  off.) 

DICKIE  (with  staccato  voice  supposed  to  be  blood-curdling)  :  Give 
me  a  match  to  light  my  pipe,  or  else — 

VOICE  (from  within,  wearily)  :     Car-o-line !     Car-o-line ! 

MINERVA:     Kree,  your  mother's  calling  you. 

KREE  (cheerfully) :  Yes,  Ma,  I'm  coming,  (to  the  children)  I 
guess  the  baby  waked  up.  (Kree  departs.  Goes  in  small  gate  to  base 
ment-door.  Discussion  arises.  Who  is  to  take  the  place  of  Kree,  now 
left  vacant.) 

SATURDAY:     Can't  I  be  Big  Sister? 

MINERVA:  No,  I'll  be  the  Big  Sister  because  that  is  the  most  im 
portant.  Saturday,  you  can  be  the  mother. 

DICKIE  (advancing  trying  to  look  ferocious,  repeats  in  staccato)  : 
Gimme  a  match  to  light  my  pipe,  or  else  Diggelly  Digelly  Bones'll  get  ye ! 
(door  opens  suddenly  and  Biddy  appears  and  they  all  run  helter-skelter, 
tumbling  over  each  other.) 

BIDDY  (standing  with  a  paper  bag  in  her  hands)  :  Come  back  wid 
yees !  Here's  a  cookie  fur  ye — an'  now  be  good  byes  an'  girrls  an'  lemme 
git  the  work  done,  (they  crowd  around  her  laughing  and  talking.  She 
gives  each  one  a  cookie.)  Now,  be  off  wid  yees !  I'm  goin'  ter  clane  the 
steps,  (begins  to  sweep.  They  go  off  skipping  and  are  disappearing  one 
b\  one.  Kree  comes  out  with  a  baby  in  her  arms.) 

KREE:     Dickie  and  Billy,  Ma  wants  you,  right  away. 

(The  two  boys  hold  up  their  cookies  and  give  her  a  bite  as  they  pass 
her  and  go  within.  Biddy  leans  over  and  gives  her  the  paper-bag  of  cakes. 
Kree  smiles  and  follows  the  boys  within.  Almost  immediately  Dickie 
and  Billy  come  out  again  holding  a  very  large  market-basket  between 
them  by  the  handle,  and  go  sloivly  down  the  street.) 

BIDDY,  THE  BOGIE  (leaning  over  and  calling  out  to  neighbor,  next 
door,  through  the  open  window  where  he  sits  reading  the  morning-paper)  : 
An'  how  arr  ye  this  marnin',  Misther  O'Neil? 

NEIGHBOR  O'NEIL  (from  next  door)  :  An'  is  ut  yersilf,  Misthress 
Egan? 

BIDDY,  THE  BOGIE:  It  is  that  same,  Misther  O'Neil!  An'  wot's  the 
news  ? 

NEIGHBOR  O'NEIL:  Great  things  is  happenin' !  Great  things!  But 
wait  an'  I'll  be  comin'  to  tell  ye.  (appears  in  his  morning-gown  ^and  slip 
pers  and  smoking-cap,  the  picture  of  a  prosperous  comfortable  citizen  of 
that  time.)  Wot  d'ye  think?  Th'  Anti-Coolie  question  is  goin'  to  pass 
in  Washington,  D.  C.  Gineral  Garfield  is  nominated  fur  prisidint,  an' 
wot's  the  biggest  thing  of  all,  theer's  goin'  to  be  a  rollin'-mill  put  up  by 
me^  friend,  Peter  Donohue,*  down  on  First  and  Mission  street.  It's  fur 

•The  statuary-group  "Mechanics"  which  beautifies  Market  street,  near   First,  is  here  placed 
in    honor  of   Peter   Donohue,  and   this   rolling-mill,   now   no   more. 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  45 


the  wurkin'  man !  An'  all  he's  got  to  do  is  to  take  his  dinner-pail  in  his 
hand  and  go  down  theer  an'  git  a  job!  That's  the  best  news  fur  manny 
a  day !  An'  the  name  o'  Donohue  will  go  on  rollin'  down  the  ages,  sure ! 

BIDDY,  THE  BOGIE  (surprised  and  gratified  but  mystified)  :  Think  of 
thot  now !  (she  catches  sight  of  Billy  Barney,  the  negro  minstrel,  coming 
out  from  the  little  gate  at  the  basement  cautiously  as  if  to  elude  notice,  and 
leans  over  to  intercept  him.)  An'  have  ye  got  the  rint  riddy  yit,  Misther 
Barney — it's  been  owin'  this  two  months  sure?  (enter  Barney.) 

BARNEY  (visibly  shrinking  but  putting  up  a  bold  front,  lifts  his  hat 
to  her  gallantly)  :  So  it  is,  Mrs.  Egan,  I'd  quite  forgotten !  But  I  hope 
to  get  a  job  soon.  If  the  managers  were  n't  so  jealous  of  me  and  bound 
to  keep  me  down,  I'd  have  had  one  long  ago. 

BIDDY,  THE  BOGIE  (relentlessly)  :     Yis,  but  wheer's  the  rint? 

BARNEY  (with  the  anger  of  despair)  :  I'll  go  and  pawn  my  banjo 
and  GIVE  you  the  money !  (goes  in  angrily  and  returns  with  his  banjo, 
carrying  -it  jauntily  as  he  starts  off  down  the  street.)  This  is  the  way  they 
treat  ARTISTSf  in  San  Francisco !  And  this  will  go  "rolling"  down  the 
ages,  too!  (Goes  off  haughtily.) 

NEIGHBOR  O'NsiL  (looking  after  him  curiously)  :     Poor  divil ! 

BIDDY  THE  BOGIE  (haughtily)  :  I  pities  thim  as  belongs  to  a 
theayter ! 

NEIGHBOR  O'NEIL  (proudly)  :     As  fur  mesilf,  I'd  ruther  be  a  work- 
in'  man !     But  I  must  be  goin'.     (he  returns  to  his  own  house.)     Good- 
day,  Misthress  Egan. 

BIDDY  THE  BOGIE:  Good-day,  Misther  O'Neil.  (meditatively,  lean 
ing  on  her  broom.)  I  wunner,  I  guess  not,  I  dunno,  wot  is  a  rollin'-mill  ? 
(she  catches  sight  of  her  younger  sister,  Mrs.  Spangler,  as  she  comes' 
from  market  dressed  in  her  best  broche  shawl  and  velvet  bonnet  with  a 
lot  of  crushed  red  roses  on  it  with  the  cotton  sticking  out  from  them 
showing  the  wear  and  tear  of  time.  But  Mrs.  Spangler,  being  buxom 
and  gay,  holds  her  head  proudly.  The  two  sisters  ahvays  have  high  ivords 
with  each  other  when  they  meet.  Enter  Mrs.  Spangler.) 

BIDDY,  THE  BOGIE  (eyeing  her  sister  moodily) :  Foine  feathers 
make  foine  burrds,  they  say,  but  it's  sorry  I  am  for  you,  Maggie  Mc- 
Ginnis,  wearin'  yer  best  bonnet  tuh  market ! 

MRS.  SPANGLER  (tossing  her  head  and  shrugging  her  shoulders)  : 
If  I  didn't  have  one,  I  couldn't  wear  it.  A  leddy  must  look  like  a  leddy, 
aven  wen  she  goes  to  market,  an'  many's  the  foine  gintleman  as  has  taken 
off  his  hat  to  me  this  mornin' ! 

BOGIE  (relentlessly)  :  An'  it's  a  poor  mother  your  son  has  got  this 
day! 


fNo  tablet  is  yet  placed  in  memory  of  the  merry-makers  of  this  period  who  held  forth 
in  the  old  Bush  Street  Theatre.  Nevertheless  we  sang  their  songs,  we  repeated  their  brilliant 
sallies  of  wit,  we  named  our  pets  after  them,  we  referred  to  them  as  authorities.  They  became 
as  household  gods  by  their  elegance,  personality  and  quality.  They  gave  us  real  wit  in  those 
days,  clean  and  free  from  vulgarity.  They  soothed  us  in  many  an  hour  of  distraction  or 
grief  by  their  merry  quips  and  turns,  though  they  had  many  sorrows  of  their  own.  Foremost 
among  all  of  these  were  William  Courtright,  Charlie  Reed,  Billy  Emerson,  Billy  Cotton  and 
Carroll  Johnson. 


46  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

MRS.  S.  (losing  her  jauntiness,  suddenly):  Biddy!  fer  the  love  of 
Hiven,  wot's  happened  to  my  boy?  Ye  know  he's  the  apple  of  me  eye! 

THE  BOGIE  (opens  the  door)  :  Here  ye  are,  Bobby.  Yer  mither  has 
come.  (Bobby  comes  out  and  gives  way  to  his  feelings.) 

BOBBY:  Well,  Mawther,  wot  d'ye  think's  bruck  loose,  now^?  Here 
they've  gone  an*  got  a  new  rule  fer  to  get  on  the  force.  A  man's  got  to 
be  26,  an'  theer's  me  application  in,  statin'  that  me  age  is  24. 

MRS.  S.  (throwing  her  shawl  over  her  head,  and  sitting  down  on  the 
steps,  and  wailing)  :  O-oh,  Bobby !  ye'll  niver  git  on,  at  all,  at  all ! 

BOBBY:  If  I  had  foive  dollars  to  give  Maloney,  I  cud  git  it  out  an' 
put  in  another  application  statin'  me  age  is  26. 

MRS.  S.  (arousing  herself  in  surprise):  Och,  My!  Bobby,  what  a 
foine  head  ye've  got  on  ye ! 

BOBBY:     Yes,  but  wheer's  the  foive  dollars? 

MRS.  S.  (winking  prodigiously)  :  Ye  jist  lave  it  to  me.  I'll  borry  it 
from  somebudy.  (turns  to  her  sister  unctuously.)  Biddy,  wouldn't  ye  be 
lending'  me  foive  dollars,  for  Bobby  to  help  him  to  git  on  the  force? 

THE  BOGIE  (indignantly)  :  Och,  an'  it's  sorry  I  am  for  ye,  Maggie 
Maginnis!  Ye  may  have  been  the  belle  of  Antrim  County  wen  ye  was 
back  in  ould  Ireland  but  it  is  a  poor  sowl  ye  are  now,  gitten  into  that  rat- 
hole  o'  polly  ticks!  (lifts  her  head  haughtily.) 

MRS.  SPANGLER  (to  Bobby)  :  Niver  ye  mind,  me  jewel.  I'll  borry 
it  from  somebuddy  else,  (she  goes  inside. 

Bobby  stops  and  blarneys  his  aunt.  She  smiles  upon  him,  slips  her 
hand  into  a  capacious  pocket  in  her  petticoat  and  draws  out  five  dollars  and 
gives  it  to  him.) 

THE  BOGIE:  Say  nothin'  to  nobuddy  an'  ye  can  have  it.  Not  a 
wurrd  out  of  ye!  Remimber!  Now  run  along  an'  give  it  to  Misther 
Maloney. 

(Bobby  kisses  her  and  runs  along.    She  looks  after  him  fondly.) 

BOGIE  (emotionally)  :  He's  morr  moine  than  he  is  hern.  Didn't  I 
sing  the  old  songs  to  him  wen  he  was  a  babby,  wen  she  was  goin'  to 
parties  and  dancin'?  an'  a  proud  day  it'll  be  fer  his  Aunt  Biddy  wen  she 
can  walk  up  and  down  an'  see  'im  in  his  foine  uniform,  standin'  on  his 
beat. 

MRS.  S.  (comes  out  on  the  step  again)  :     Where's  Bobby? 

BOGIE  (gathers  up  her  mops  and  brooms)  :  He's  gone  to  see  Misther 
Maloney.  (she  goes  in  proudly. 

Enter  Sister  Gertrude.    Greeted  by  Mrs.  Spangler,  warmly.) 

SISTER  GERTRUDE:  I  can't  stop  a  minute.  I  only  came  to  tell  you 
I  am  back  again,  and  I'm  at  the  Clay  Street  Hospital,  for  women.  I  had 
a  letter  from  Babe,  and  she  says  you  have  been  very  kind  to  her,  and  I 
am  so  glad. 

MRS.  S. :  That's  true.  Sister  Gertrude;  but  we're  all  havin'  such 
a  hard  time  oursilves  that  it's  a  wonner  we  can  do  anything  for  anny 
bodv. 


SOCIETY   AND    BABE    ROBINSON  47 

SISTER  GERTRUDE  :  Well,  Maggie,  you  know  it's  the  poor  that  helps 
the  poor. 

MRS.  S. :  So  it  is,  so  it  is !  She's  a  rale  nice  little  gell,  an'  we  all 
like  her.  An'  wot  d'ye  think,  Misther  Morton's  got  a  room  here  now  too. 
He's  savin'  his  money  fer  to  fetch  his  mother  out  from  the  East.  He's 
a  foine  gentleman  an'  Miss  Lilly  and  Miss  Kate  help  him  to  look  after 
the  little  gell. 

SISTER  GERTRUDE:  How  glad  I  am  the  poor  child  has  so  many 
friends.  You  tell  her  I  have  come  back.  Now  I  must  go.  (she  turns 
and  sees  a  stranger.  She  gives  another  look  and  starts,  then  turns  about 
in  the  opposite  direction,  drawing  her  veil  over  her  face  and  goes  without 
another  word.  But  she  is  overcome  zvith  emotion. 

Enter  Parson  Hager.) 

PARSON  HAGER  (to  Mrs.  Spangler)  :  You  have  rooms  to  rent, 
Madam  ? 

MRS.  SPANGLER  :  That  I  has,  sorr,  clane  and  nate,  if  I  do  say  so  as 
who  should  not.  (at  this  moment,  Babe  arrives,  in  tidy  clothes,  and  full 
of  content.) 

BABE  :  How  de  do,  Mrs.  Spangler,  an'  how's  everybody  today?  I've 
got  a  half -holiday,  and  I'm  going  to  get  up  a  nice  lunch  for  the  girls — 
hot  biscuits  and  apple  sauce  and  fried  potatoes  and  sliced  tomatoes.  Won't 
they  be  surprised,  though? 

PARSON  HAGER  (advancing  with  arms  held  out)  :  Why,  Babe,  is  this 
you?  I've  hunted  for  you  every  where.  Steve  made  me  promise  to  go 
and  find  you,  just  before  he  died. 

BABE  (thunderstruck)-.  Parson!  You  here?  (she  stands,  hesita 
ting,  then  buries  her  head  in  her  arm,  like  a  child,  and  gives  way  to 
suppressed  grief.) 

PARSON  (going  to  her):  What  is  the  matter?  Don't  you  want  to 
see  me  ?  I  bring  you  news,  sad  news. 

BABE  (in  a  low  voice)  :  I  have  made  friends  for  myself,  down  here. 
They  would  not  like  me  if  they  knew  about  my  old  troubles,  and  that  my 
mother  had  married  the  man — who — killed  my  father.  Promise  me  you 
will  keep  it  a  secret. 

PARSON:  I  promise!  For  that  is  all  over,  now.  Your  mother  is 
dead.  Her  sorrows  are  no  more. 

BABE  (sorrowfully)  :  Poor  mother !  But  I  still  have  to  bear  the 
burden.  Why!  all  my  good  friends  would  turn  away  from  me  if  they 
knew.  Why  do  the  innocent  have  to  suffer  for  the  guilty? 

PARSON  :  You  are  young.  How  can  you  understand  ?  But  I  am  old, 
and  I  have  suffered  too.  I  had  a  daughter.  She  ran  away  with  a  wicked 
woman.  Her  mother's  heart  was  broken  and  she  died.  'But  I  still  live 
on — and  I  suffer. 

BABE  (clinging  to  him)  :  How  glad  I  am  you  came !  For  now  we 
can  sympathize  with  each  other.  It  will  be  fine  for  you  to  have  a  room 
here,  (she  introduces  him  to  Mrs.  Spangler.  The  three  go  in. 

As  they  go  in  a  figure  closely  veiled,  comes  up  to  the  door  but  hesitates 


48  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

about  ringing  the  bell.    Enter  Keyman  and  Weakling.     Mollie  Darling 
comes  down  the  steps  to  them.) 

AL  KERCHEVAL  (takes  off  his  hat  gracefully)  :  How  are  you,  Miss 
Darling  ?  I  haven't— seen— you— for— some— time.  No,— I— haven't— 
seen — you. 

KEYMAN  (roughlv)  :  Cheese  it,  Kertch!  Don't  be  callin'  her  name 
out  like  dat !  She's  on'the  quiet,  now.  An'  we  ain't  goin'  to  give  'er  away ! 
Any  thin'  wanted?  Keys  or  somethin'? 

MOLLIE  (in  suppressed  tones):  Yes.  Can  you  clean  a  revolver? 
and  put  it  in  good  shape?  It  doesn't  go  very  well,  (she  produces  a  pis 
tol  from  her  hand-bag,  and  gives  it  to  him.  He  looks  it  over  critically.) 
KEYMAN  :  Dat  ain't  no  good.  Ye  want  a  better  one  dan  dat.  (she 
takes  out  her  purse.  He  scowls.)  No,  yer  don't !  I  can  git  you  one.  Do 
you  want  it  fur  him  ? 

MOLLIE  :  Yes.  Can  you  take  it  to  him  ?  The  detectives  follow  me 
now.  I  have  to  keep  away !  Will  you  look  after  him  ?  I'll  pay  you. 

KEYMAN:  No,  yer  don't!  He's  my  fren' !  He  treats  me  wite,  an' 
so  do  you.  I'll  look  after  him,  all  right.  Don't  you  worry.  (Mollie  tries 
to  thank  him,  goes.)  Come  on,  Ketch.  Let's  go  in.  (they  go  in  by  side- 
entrance. 

Jim  Castleton  and  Lily  White  appear,  talking  in  low  tones.  Castleton 
looks  at  his  ivatch.) 

CASTLETON:     I'll  have  to  go.    I  have  an  engagement. 
LILY:     Is  that  all  you  can  say  to  me? 
CASTLETON  (nervously)  :     What  else  can  I  say  ? 
LILY:     But  it  is  life  and  death!    It  is  death  to  me!    Oh,  what  shall 
I  do?    You  promised!    You  promised! 

CASTLETON  (looking  around)  :  Don't  make  a  scene,  for  God's  sake! 
I'll  get  some  money  and  send  it  to  you. 

LILY  (wildl\)\  Money?  My  heart  is  breaking,  and  you  talk  of 
money !  You  promised. 

CASTLETON:  I've  got  to  go.  I  can't  stay  another  minute.  My 
mother  and  sisters  are  waiting  for  me  to  join  them,  in  their  box  at  the 
matinee.  I  promised  to  be  there. 

LILY  (pressing  her  hand  to  her  heart)  :  What  are  your  promises 
worth  ?  You  have  no  honor. 

CASTLETON  :     There  you  go !  tragic  again  !     I  can't  stand  it.     Good 
bye,     (he  starts  to  go.    She  turns  after  him,  trying  vainly  to  keep  him.) 
LILY:     Jim!     Is  this  the  end  of  everything?    Shall  I  never  see  you 
again? 

CASTLETON  :  What's  the  good  of  it  ?  You  want  me  to  marry  you. 
I  know  I  promised,  but  I  can't  do  it.  My  position  in  society  forbids  it. 
My  mother  would  disown  me,  and  cut  me  off.  So  there  is  no  use  in  talk 
ing  about  it.  I  must  go. 

(He  hurries  away,  glad  to  escape.  Lily  clings  to  the  railing  of  the 
front  porch,  as  she  struggles  to  get  control  of  herself,  and  goes  within, 
weakly.  Biddy  the  Bogie  opens  the  door,  as  she  enters.) 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  49 

BOGIE  :  Yer  not  feelin'  well,  Miss  Lily.  Wot  ye  want  is  a  cup  o' 
tay.  Ye'll  find  the  little  gell  gettin'  riddy  fer  you.  (looks  at  her  scrutin- 
isinnly  as  she  passes  within.  Broom  in  hand,  Biddy  looks  down  the  street. 

Enter  the  two  small  Gusset  boys  dragging  a  big  market-basket  be 
tween  them  filled  zvith  pieces  of  bread,  cooked  potatoes,  etc.,  from  a  restau 
rant.  As  they  jerk  and  pull,  pieces  have  fallen  out  on  the  street  leaving 
a  line  behind  them.) 

DICKIE  (complainingly)  :     Aw,  I'm  tired  pullin'  this ! 

BILLY:     Me,  too. 

DICKIE  (turning  around  observes  the  line  of  bread)  :  Jiminy-gosh ! 
look  at  that? 

BILLY  :     Wot  you  goina  do,  Dickie  ? 

DICKIE  (in  despair)  :  I'm  tired.  I'm  gonna  sit  down  and  rest !  (sits 
in  one  side  of  the  basket.) 

BILLY  :     I'm  tired,  too.     Lemme  sit  down. 

DICKIE:     No,  I'm  the  biggest. 

BILLY  :     I'm  the  littlest ! 

DICKIE  :  Gimme — there  now !  (they  tussle,  pulling  at  the  basket 
till  it  is  overturned. 

Enter  Morton  on  a  rush,  but  stops  suddenly.) 

MORTON  :  Hello,  you  little  scamps !  what's  this?  I've  been  wonder 
ing  where  all  this  good  bread  came  from.  Say,  Dick,  why  don't  you  pick 
it  up  again.  Don't  you  know  it  is  wicked  to  throw  bread  around  ? 

(Enter  Mrs.  Gusset  zvith  large  bundle  of  sezving  under  her  arm.) 

MRS.  GUSSET  (shrinking  back)  :  Oh,  children,  how  can  you  mortify 
me  so?  Help  me  to  pick  it  up.  (she  stoops  to  do  this  when  little  Kree,  the 
lame  girl,  comes  out  from  within  and  helps  her,  instead  of  the  boys.) 

DICKIE  (carefully  explaining)  :  Well,  the  restaurant  man  filled  the 
basket  too  full  and  Billy  wiggled  his  side  so't  it  dropped  out— 

BILLY  :     I  never  did  !  it  was  your  side  ! 

DICKIE:  He  wouldn't  go  back  and  pick  it  up  nnther  w'd  I  (airily). 
Ye  don't  ketch  me  pickin'  up  bread  out  o'  the  streets ! 

(Mrs.  Gusset  takes  up  the  basket  and  runs  in  with  it.) 

LITTLE  LAME  KREE  (disapprovingly):  You  bad,  bad  things!  isn't 
she  the  best  mother  in  the  world  to  stay  and  take  care  of  us  since  pa  went 
off  and  left  us?  and  don't  she  work  till  her  back  is  most  broke?  O,  you 
mean  things !  Come  in  and  be  ashamed  o'  yourselves.  (Krec  grabs  each 
by  the  hand  and  drags  them  in.  As  they  are  doing  this,  enters  Barney, 
the  negro-minstrel,  banjo  in  hand.  The  Bogie  fetches  down  her  broom 
and  sweeps  up  the  remnants,  meanwhile  eyeing  him  carefully.  Barney 
lifts  his  hat  to  her  gallantly.  He  and  Morton  exchange  greetings  cor 
dially.) 

MORTON  (to  Barney)  :  Isn't  it  terrible  how  that  poor  woman  keeps 
those  young  ones  alive? 

BARNEY  (striking  his  banjo)  :  Isn't  it  terrible  how  any  of  us  keep 
alive?  (looks  at  Bogie,  significantly.)  Just  saved  my  banjo  from  being 


50  SOCIETY    JXD    BABE    ROBIXSON 

pawned  to  pay  my  rent  to  Mrs.  Egan,  here !  Yes,  sir,  got  a  new  job 
(voice  breaks).  Old  man,  congratulate  me!  I  feel  as  if  I  were  a  boy 
again!  (Bogie  scrutinizes  him  to  see  if  he  is  fooling.) 

MORTON  (extending  his  hand)  :  Well.  I  do  congratulate  you,  Barney, 
how  could  society  get  along  without  you  to  amuse  them  ?  A  fair  exchange 
is  no  robbery.  Music  is  money — you  have  some  of  the  former  to  exchange 
for  some  of  the  latter,  you  sing  for  your  supper  like  little  Tommy  Tucker, 
of  course.  Going  to  give  the  great  public  "Flewy-flewy"  for  the  eleventh 
hundred  and  second  time — your  great  masterpiece? 

BARNEY:  Yes.  and  I'm  going  to  give  them  something  new,  too. 
(tunes  his  banjo  and  sings:) 

"The  next  that  came  was  a  little  green  snake — ahm— 
The  next  that  came  was  a  little  green  snake, 
And  he  crawled  around  the  wedding  cake — ahm — 

MORTON  :     Why.  man !  that's  as  old  as  the  hills ! 

I5ARNEY  (cheerfully):  That's  the  very  reason  they'll  like  it — it's  so 
old  that  they'll  think  it  is  new  again. 

MORTON:  Good  for  you — and  say,  I've  got  good  luck,  too.  My 
family  back  East  has  won  a  great  lawsuit.  And  what  do  you  think  I  am 
going  to  do,  Mrs.  Egan?  You  can't  guess.  I'm  going  to  pack  my  trunk 
and  go  back  East  tomorrow  morning.  Early  train,  (the  tivo  men  shake 
hands.  Morton  puts  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  takes  out  some  silver.) 
Here,  Barney,  take  this  in  and  give  it  to  that  poor  woman.  I'm  a  hard 
hearted  wretch — but  I  can't  stand  this  (pointing  to  the  bread  on  the  street). 

BARNEY  :  Same  here.  I'll  put  a  dollar  to  it.  (goes  in  drumming  on 
his  banjo,  singing  nc.rt  verse:) 

''The  next  that  came  were  two  little  bugs — ahm — 
The  next  that  came  were  two  little  bugs. 
And  they  set  on  the  cider  jugs — ahm — 

BOGIE  (doubtfully,  leaning  on  her  broom  like  an  old  witch)  :  Is  it 
the  thruth,  or  arr  ye  foolin'  me,  the  both  of  yees? 

MORTON  (holding  up  his  hand)  :     It's  the  truth ! 

BOGIE  (affected  to  tears)  :  Och,  Misther  Morton !  An'  ye'll  be  lavin' 
us? 

MORTON  :  Yes.  And  I  want  you  to  help  me.  I  had  a  telegram  that 
that  old  lawsuit  had  been  compromised,  and  I  am  to  go  and  fetch  my 
mother  out.  Mighty  good  luck  for  our  folks  it  came  before  we  were  all 
dead.  Now,  will  you  let  me  leave  my  traps  here  till  I  come  back? 

BIDDY  :  Av  coorse.  The  byes  is  here,  and  they  can  carry  them  up 
to  the  attic  fur  ye.  But  wot'll  the  little  gell  be  doin'  'ithout  ye?  I'm 
thinkin'  she'll  take  it  hard! 

MORTON  :  Oh,  I'll  be  back  soon,  and  I'm  going  to  get  my  mother  to 
look  out  for  Babe.  I'm  almost  sure  she'll  do  it.  Now  let  us  go  and  see 
alxwt  those  traps  of  mine,  for  I've  got  lots  to  do  to  get  away  by  the  early 
morning  train. 

BIDDY:  Yis,  Misther  Morton,  I'm  a  comin'.  (both  go  within.  En 
ter  Malcolm.) 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  51 

MALCOLM  (gleefully)  :  Won't  my  sister  be  pleased  when  I  tell  her 
the  great  news  that  I've  got  a  raise  of  a  whole  dollar  a  week?  (he  goes 
ivithin.) 

(End  of  First  Scene  of  Act  III.) 

SCENE  II. 

(Afternoon,  clouding  up,  dull  and  dark. 

Room  in  Mrs.  Spanglers  rooming-house,  where  the  three  girls, 
Lily,  Kate  and  Babe,  have  their  co-operative  home  together.  A  table,  a 
couch,  what-not  in  the  corner,  with  sea  shells  and  books — pictures  of 
Washington  and  of  Grant's  family  on  the  walls.  Small  side-room  in 
dicated  by  door. 

Babe  has  set  table,  and  then  gives  way  to  melancholy.  Sits  down 
with  back  to  door  of  entrance  leading  from  hall.) 

BARE:  I  wonder  if  anything  good  will  ever  happen  to  me?  if  I 
can  ever  forget  my  sorrows  ?  (buries  her  head  in  her  arm  for  an  instant, 
then  lifts  her  head  and  wipes  her  eyes  roughly.)  Oh !  I've  got  to  make 
the  best  of  everything.  I  ought  to  be  thankful  that  I  earn  four  dollars 
a  week  and  that  I  have  such  kind  friends.  (In  her  abstraction  she  does 
not  notice  that  some  one  had  opened  the  door  softly,  and  is  stealing  toward 
her.  It  is  Malcolm,  who  plans  to  take  his  sister  by  surprise,  thinking  it 
is  Kate  sitting  there.  He  cautiously  advances  and  puts  his  hand  over 
her  eyes.) 

BABE  :  Oh  !  Who's  that  ?  Is  that  you,  Kate  ?  No,  your  hands  are 
smaller  than  these !  (feels  the  hands.) 

MALCOLM  (horrified  at  taking  such  a  liberty  with  a  strange  girl)  : 
What !  Have  I  made  a  mistake  ?  How  can  I  get  out  of  here  ?  (looks  at 
the  door  zvarily.  Makes  a  dash  for  the  door  and  goes  clattering  down  the 
stairs.) 

BABE  (jumping  to  her  feet)  :  Why,  it's  Kate's  brother.  He  took 
me  for  Kate,  (laughs  merrily.  Enter  Morton.) 

MORTON  :  What's  the  matter  ?  You  seem  very  merry !  Wasn't 
that  Malcolm,  running  away? 

BABE  (still  laughing)  :  Yes.  He  took  me  for  Kate  and  put  his 
hands  over  my  eyes  and  when  he  found  out  who  it  was,  he  ran  away 
as  fast  as  he  could !  To  think  of  me  nearly  scaring  a  young  man  to 
death ! 

MORTON  (briefly)  :  I'm  going  to  leave  in  the  morning.  Going  East, 
to  fetch  my  mother  out  here.  Had  a  telegram.  That  lawsuit's  been 
won.  I  am  to  fetch  her  to  California!  So  I  shall  not  see  you  for  a  little 
while. 

BABE  (ready  to  cry)  :  Oh !  You  are  going  away !  Suppose  you 
never  come  back? 

MORTON  :  Never  fear.  I  love  California  too  well.  I'll  never  live 
anywhere  else.  So,  you  will  see  me  soon.  Be  a  good  child,  and  just  keep 
out  of  trouble  till  I  get  back,  and  may  be  I  can  get  my  mother  to  be  a 


52  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

mother  to  you.  That's  what  you  need  more  than  anything  else,  Babe, 
and  to  go  to  school. 

BABE  (solemnly)  :     I  know  it. 

MORTON  ( letting  his  voice  fall)  :  And  by  the  way,  Babe,  I  heard 
something  about— you  know,  Steve— I  don't  like  to  speak  about  it,  be 
cause  it  only  makes  you  think  about  sorrowful  things— but  a  detective 
told  me  that  they're  on  the  trail  of  the  stage-robber—it  seems  he  came 
down  on  the  boat  the  very  morning  after.  My!  but  he  was  a  sharp 
fellow ! 

BABE  (wonderingly)  :  He  did?  Why,  that  was  the  boat  I  came 
on,  don't  you  remember? 

MORTON:  So  it  was!  Well,  they're  going  to  get  him  pretty  soon, 
now. 

BABE  (%riml\)  :  And— I— hope— he'll— be— hanged !  My  poor 
darling  old  Steve*!  What  would  I  have  done,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
Mr.  Belmour  and  you?  He  gave  me  money  but  you  found  me  WORK 
to  do. 

MORTON  :  You  poor  little  thing,  you — I  hope  now  to  show  you  what 
I  can  do — to  make  things  better. 

(Biddv  Egan  appears.  She  comes  into  the  room  with  the  Keyman 
and  Al  Kercheval  behind  her,  carrying  a  trunk  between  them,  and  with 
their  arms  full  of  bundles  and  books.  They  set  the  trunk  down  and  the 
other  things  slip  from  their  arms  and  fall  upon  the  floor,  while  the  two 
fellows  scramble  awkwardly  to  pick  them  up  again.) 

BOGIE  (with  authority)  :  Here's  the  byes,  Misther  Morton,  wid 
the  thraps.  Will  ye  go  along  an'  show  us  ware  yo'd  like  'urn  to  be  putt  ? 

(In  the  tussle  with  one  of  the  bundles,  it  breaks  open  and  a  bright 
flash  of  steel  in  the  shape  of  a  revolver  shows  itself.  The  Keyman  falls 
upon  it  immediately  and  gives  a  surreptitious  glance  around.  Ao  one 
has  perceived  it.  He  whisks  it  into  his  pocket  like  lightning  and  draws 
out  a  cigarette  which  he  leisurely  puts  between  his  teeth  and  asks  Kerch 
for  a  match,  to  cover  up  his  action.  Scolding  them  both,  and  forbidding 
the  lighting  of  the  cigarette  till  he  leaves  the  attic,  the  Bogie  gathers  up 
the  scattered  contents  of  the  bundle,  ties  it  together  and  carries  it  out 
herself.) 

MORTON  :     Thank  you,  Mrs.  Egan,  I'm  much  obliged. 

(As  Morton  and  the  boys  and  the  Bogie  are  leaving,  Kate  comes. 
Her  face  is  set  and  white.  "Morton  touches  his  hat  to  her  as  he  passes 
and  so  does  Kercheval.  Babe  stands  in  doubt.  She  realizes  that  some 
thing  has  gone  wrong.  Kate  throws  herself  into  a  chair  by  the  table  and 
buries  her  face  in  her  hands.) 

BABE  (bezvildcrcd)  :     Why,  Kate !  is  something  the  matter  ? 

KATE  (briefly)  :  Nothing  much.  Lost  my  job,  that's  all.  Malcolm 
will  have  to  give  up  business  college. 

(Enter  Lily  from  side-room,  very  pale  and  listless.  Sits  down,  say 
ing  nothing.) 

BABE  (to  Kate):     Howr  could  you  lose  your  job?     Why,  you  have 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  53 

the  very  highest  influence  down  there !  And  it's  a  Government  position 
to  be  working  in  the  land  office. 

KATE  (sullenly)  :     I  know.     But  I  resigned 

BABE  AND  LILY  (together)  :     RESIGNED  ? 

KATE  :  Yes.  To  escape  the  attentions  of  a  man  I  detest.  For  three 
months  he  has  been  trying  to  get  me  to  go  to  a  French  dinner  with  him. 
And  I  said  "No."  So,  today  he  said :  "Well,  you  know  what  you  can 
do,  don't  you,  Miss  Strong?"  And  I  said:  "Yes,  I  can  resign."  He  is  a 
married  man. 

BABE:     But,  what  will  you  do? 

KATE  :  Oh !  Buy  guns  and  pistols  and  poisons  and  cannons  I  sup 
pose,  and  put  an  end  to  myself!  I  thought  I  was  so  smart,  and  so  in 
dependent!  But  I'm  not!  I'm  just  as  weak  as  all  the  other  women  are. 
I  begin  to  envy  the  women  who  have  a  husband,  home  and  children  to 
work  for ;  for  then  you  have  a  roof  over  your  head ;  and  a  woman  can't 
get  along  without  a  roof.  That's  certain!  I'll  have  to  go  and  tell 
Malcolm. 

BABE  :  He  was  here  to  see  you ;  but  somehow,  I  scared  him  away, 
and  he  ran  down  the  stairs  when  he  saw  that  you  were  not  here  and  that 
I  was! 

KATE  (wearily)  :  Yes,  that's  just  like  him!  He'll  have  to  get  over 
all  that  nonsense  now.  I  must  go  down  to  Cluff's  and  tell  him.  (Kate 
goes.) 

BABE  :  Do  you  know,  Lily,  I  think  Kate  is  giving  in !  I  believe 
that  if  Mr.  Harrington  asked  her  to  marry  him  now,  she  would  do  it! 
What  a  pity  he  does  not  know !  Do  you  think  it  would  be  wrong  if  I 
should  send  him  a  note? 

LILY  (listlessly)  :  W'hat  could  you  say  ?  Men  do  not  care  if  women 
suffer. 

BABE:  Why,  Lily,  what  is  the  matter  with  you?  Of  course 
a  good  man  cares,  and  Mr.  Harrington  is  a  good  man.  Now  I 
could  write  something  like  this  (begins  to  write)  :  Mr.  Harrington :  Dear 
Sir  (she  hesitates)  :  My  friend,  Miss  Kate  Strong,  has  resigned  her 
position  in  the  land  office.  (So  far,  so  good.)  And  I  think  she  would  like 
to  get  another  position  as  soon  as  possible.  She  went  to  see  her  brother, 
who  is  on  Second  street  at  Cluff's  grocery  store,  to  tell  him  the  sad  news. 
You  could  find  her  there.  I  am  sending  this  to  you —  How  am  I  going  to 
send  it,  Lily? 

LILY  (bitterly)  :  Oh,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know ; — do  you  think  you 
should  send  it? 

BABE:  Why  not?  I'm  not  a  'fraid  cat!  I  hear  Bobby  Spangler 
talking.  He  might  take  it.  (she  runs  to  the  door.)  Bobby,  is  that  you? 
Come  here!  Do  you  want  to  do  a  favor  for  me? 

BOBBY  (enters  slowly  and  cautiously)  :     Wot  it  is? 

BABE:  Why,  it  is  a  letter!  and  I  want  you  to  deliver  it  at  the  Oc 
cidental  Hotel,  to  a  gentleman  there,  Mr.  William  Harrington. 

BOBBY  :     Has  he  got  the  inflooence  wid  the  bosses  ? 


54  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

BABE  :  Of  course  he  has.  And  he'll  be  so  pleased  to  get  this  letter, 
that  you  can  ask  him  to  help  you  get  on  the  force.  I'll  put  it  in  the  letter 
(repeats).  I  am  sending  this  to  you  by  Robert  Spangler,  who  has  been 
trying  to  get  on  the  force  for  years,  but  he  has  no  influence  with  the 
bosses.  May  be  you  could  tell  him  what  to  do  next.  Very  truly  yours, 
Miss  B.  Robinson.  Now,  Bobby,  here  is  the  chance  of  your  life.  You 
just  i^o  for  him.  He  is  there,  somewhere,  and  you  find  him.  (puts  note  in 
t-;/:v/(»/v.  ail  dresses  and  hands  it  over)  Don't  you  drop  it  in  the  street 
and  get  it  muddy !  and  don't  mash  it  up  in  your  great  big  paws.  Put  it 
in  your  hat,  and  then  you'll  know  where  it  is.  Now  rush !  (he  does  as  she 
says,  awkwardly.) 

BOBBY  (full  of  determination,  draws  down  his  brows  and  assumes  a 
most  important  air,  delays  an  instant)  :  Do  you  think  he  knows  Mr. 
Maloney? 

BABE:  Mr.  Maloney?  Why,  of  course  he  does.  Hurry  up,  you 
slow  poke!  (Bobbv  goes.  She  runs  to  the  window  to  look  after  him,  and 
bursts  out  lau^hine.)  Oh,  Lily!  You  ought  to  come  and  see  him.  That's 
the  very  first  time  in  his  life  he  ever  hurried!  Oh,  he  has  jumped  on  the 
car.  If  he  doesn't  find  Mr.  Harrington  nobody  ever  will. 

Li i A'   (listlesslv)  :     He  won't  care — Mr.  Harrington  won't  care. 

BABE:     What  is  the  matter   with  you,   Lily? 

LILY  :     Oh,  nothing,     (she  sighs.) 

BABE:  Do  cheer  up,  Lily,  you  give  me  the  blues.  Here  comes  the 
Bogie.  I'm  going  to  have  some  fun  with  her. 

(Enter  the  Bogie,  with  mops  and  brooms  and  dusters.) 

BOGIE:  Oi've  come  to  finish  the  room,  gells.  Ye  can't  wash  the 
windies  whin  the  sun  is  shinin'  on  'urn.  So  I  will  jist  do  it  now.  (begins 
to  work.) 

BABE  (to  Lily):  Now,  watch  the  Bogie!  I'm  going  to  astonish 
her.  (i'cr\  demurely.)  Have  you  heard  the  great  news?  Kate  is  going 
to  be  married,  (she  adds)  Maybe. 

BOGIE  :     Och,  poor  thing ! 

BABE  (indignantly)  :     Don't  you  be  calling  her  "a  poor  thing." 

BOGIE  (with  eyes  lifted  up  to  Heaven)  :  Oi've  been  married  mesilf 
an'  doan't  Oi  know? 

BABE  (wickedly):     Why  don't  you  get  married  again? 

BOGIE  (with  arms  folded)  :  None  o'  that  now!  Married  agin,  is  it? 
Noa,  noa,  indade.  Oi'm  better  off  as  Oi  am.  Whin  Oi  arns  me  dollar  fer 
washin'  Oi  kin  go  home  an'  know  that  no  man  kin  take  it  away  from 
me.  Noa,  noa,  indade ! 

BABE  (curiously  scanning  her  over)  :  Say,  you've  had  a  tough  time 
ever  since  you  were  born,  haven't  you? 

BOGIE:  Yes,  Miss,  look  at  me  honds!  They  is  full  of  holes  from 
washin'  an'  scrubbin'. 

BABE:  Don't  you  think  you  would  have  been  better  off  if  you  had 
never  been  born  ? 


SOCIETY   AND    BABE    ROBINSON  55 


BOGIE  :  That  Oi  belaves,  but  now  that  Oi'm  here  Oi  wants  to  kape 
on  livin'. 

BABE  :  What !  And  work  as  hard  as  you  have  done  for  another 
(she  hesitates)  fifty  years? 

BOGIE  (proudly) :  Foarty-five,  Miss,  foarty-five !  That  Oi  wild 
aven  a  hundred,  now  Oi'm  here.  Oi  will  work  an'  do  wot  Oi  kin,  as  long 
as  God  gives  me  the  stringth,  an'  thin  whin  Oi'm  too  wake  to  do  anny 
more,  the  payples'll  see  that  Oi'm  keered  for. 

BABE  (astonished  at  the  Bogie's  faith)  :  What !  Do  you  believe  that 
people  are  as  good  as  all  that  ?  Listen  to  that,  Lily  ? 

BOGIE  :  Oi  do,  Oi  do,  Oi  belaves  that  the  most  av  payples  has  good 
hearts  that  will  never  see  an  honest  wurkin'  man  or  wummin  go  hungry 
for  bread,  if  they  knows  it.  (changing  her  tone  to  indignation)  But  if 
they  is  lazy  thin  they'd  ought  to  go  widout  any  thin'. 

BABE  (earnestly,  looking  at  the  Bogie  intently,  zvith  head  propped  up 
by  hands,  elbows  on  the  table)  :  And  so — you  believe — that  if — a  person 
tries — to  be  honest  and  good — they  will — come  out — all  right — in  the 
end? 

BOGIE  :  Oi  do.  Oi  belaves  it.  An'  that  payples  has  good  hearts. 
(she  hobbles  out  for  a  duster.) 

LILY  :     How  could  you  tell  her  that  Kate  was  going  to  be  married  ? 

BABE:  Well,  it  might  happen  just  by  contraries!  Who  knows? 
Lots  of  mysterious  things  happen.  Come  on,  Lily,  let  us  eat  our  lunch 
and  clear  up  these  dishes  and  get  them  out  of  the  way. 

LILY  :     I  don't  want  anything. 

BABE:  You  might  pretend  that  you  do,  just  to  please  me.  Come 
on  now,  be  a  good  child,  and  "do  as  you  are  bid" — that  was  in  my  primer. 
Don't  you  remember  that? 

LILY  (slowly)  :  I  don't  think  I  had  the  same  primer  that  you  had, 
Babe,  (she  smiles  faintly  and  sits  down  and  tries  to  pretend  that  she 
wants  something  to  eat.) 

BABE  (cheerfully)  :  That's  it !  I  thought  I  could  coax  you.  It's  a 
pity  to  waste  a  nice  lunch  like  this.  Don't  you  think  so,  Lily  ? 

(As  Lily  nods  in  reply,  the  curtain  goes  down  for  one  minute.  When 
it  rises  the  dishes  are  cleared  away,  and  the  tzvo  girls  having  changed 
positions  sit  at  the  table  busy  with  darning  and  mending.  But  while  Babe 
is  trying  to  darn  a  stocking,  Lily  lets  her  sewing  lie  in  her  lap  idly,  she 
being  in  a  state  of  abstraction.  Not  a  word  is  spoken.  Occasionally  a 
faint  wail  is  heard  from  the  far  distance,  as  of  a  disconsolate  dog  baying, 
but  it  is  very  softened  and  subdued  at  first.  Some  one  comes  and  stands 
at  the  door  which  is  ajar.  It  is  Malcolm.  Enter  Malcolm,  holding  a 
bunch  of  violets  in  one  hand  and  a  fancy-box  in  the  other  hand,  awk 
wardly.) 

MALCOLM  (bows  and  removes  his  hat,  and  speaks  precisely  to  cover 
up  his  embarrassment):  How  do  you  do,  Miss  White?  Kate  sent  me 
with  a  message,  (ignores  Babe,  zvho  looks  at  him  inquiringly,  with 
purscd-up  mouth  at  being  left  out  so  utterly.) 


56  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

LILY  (surprised)  :     A  message  ? 

MALCOLM  (still  embarrassed) :  Yes,  my  sister  says  (takes  a  fresh 
breath  and  begins  over  again) — my  sister  says  she  won't  be  here  tonight. 
She's  going  to  stay  with  Miss  Harrington  for  a  while.  She's  got  a 
position  as  Miss  Harrington's  private  secretary  and  is  going  traveling 
with  her. 

BABE:     What? 

MALCOLM  (still  embarrassed) :  Yes !  Yes !  And  she's  going  to  be 
married ! 

BABE  :     Wha— a— at ! 

MALCOLM  :  Yes,  yes !  And  she  says  she's  going  to  invite  everybody 
to  the  wedding! 

BABE:     Glory — all  of  us? 

MALCOLM  :  Yes,  everybody,  and  you  too,  I  mean.  And  you  more 
than  anybody  else  in  the  world,  and  Mr.  Harrington  sent  you  these  flowers, 
and  this  box  of  candy :  and  they  say  they  owe  all  their  happiness  to  you. 
(hands  them  over.) 

BABE  (holding  bouquet  in  one  hand  and  box  in  the  other,  full  of  sur 
prise,  looking  from  one  to  the  other)  :  Do  you  hear  that,  Lily  ?  Wake 
up !  You  said  men  do  not  care  if  women  suffer !  and  here  is  your  answer. 
They  do  care.  Don't  they,  Malcolm  ?  You'd  care  if  I  suffered,  wouldn't 
you? 

MALCOLM  (forgetting  his  shyness)  :  Well,  I  rather  think  I  would ! 
And  if  anybody  ever  makes  you  suffer,  just  you  let  me  know,  and  I'll 
punch  him  between  the  eyes. 

LILY  (looks  at  him  pitifully)  :  You  are  a  good  boy,  Malcolm.  I 
wish  you  were  my  brother.  I  need  a  brother  very  much. 

MALCOLM  (at  his  ease)  :     All  right!    You  can  adopt  me,  if  you  like. 
(Enter  Barney,  the  negro-minstrel,  banjo  in  hand.) 

BARNEY  (eagerly):  Do  you  want  to  hear  my  new  song?  Expect 
to  make  a  hit  with  if. 

BABE:  Why,  of  course  we  do.  And  maybe  it  will  cheer  Lily  up  a 
little. 

BARNEY  :  Thank  you.  I  need  somebody  to  practice  on,  you  know. 
(thrums.) 

MALCOLM  :     Go  ahead.    I'd  like  to  hear  it.     (Barney  begins.) 
BARNEY: 

"A  frog  went  a  courting,  he  did  ride — a  hm — 
A  frog  went  a  courting,  he  did  ride 
With  a  sword  and  a  pistol  at  his  side — a  hm— 
He  rode  till  he  came  to  the  lady  mouse's  hall — a  hum — 
He  rode  till  he  came  to  the  lady  mouse's  hall. 
And  there  he  stopped, 
And  he  loud  did  call — a  hum— 

(In  response  to  the  fascinating  picking  of  the  banjo  and  the  weird 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  57 

cadence  of  the  song,  comes   first    the   Bogie,   whom   Babe   motions  to  a 
chair.    Next  comes  Mrs.  Spangler.    Then  Morton,  who  is  much  amused.) 

BABE  (cheerfully)  :     Poor  Mr.  Barney  is  going  to  practice  on  us. 
So  listen  and  help  him  out.     (all  join  in  the  refrain  "a  hm"  ) 

BARNEY : 

He  said,  "Lady  mouse,  are  you  within?" — a  hm— 

He  said,  "Lady  mouse,  are  you  within?" 
"Oh,  yes,  kind  sir.  I  sit  and  spin" — a  hm — 

He  took  Lady  mouse  upon  his  knee — a  hm— 

He  took  Lady  mouse  upon  his  knee, 

And  said,  "Lady  mouse,  will  you  marry  me?" — a  hm  - 

Lady  mouse  blushed  and  hung  her  head — a  hm — 

Lady  mouse  blushed  and  hung  her  head, 
"You  must  ask  my  Uncle  Rat,"  she  said — a  hm— 

Uncle  Rat  laughed  and  shook  his  fat  sides — a  hm— 

Uncle  Rat  laughed  and  shook  his  fat  sides, 

And  he  said,  "Lady  mouse  shall  be  your  bride" — a  hm — 

(Next  come  the  Keyman  and  Kcrchcval,  who  sit  on  the  floor. 
Neighbor  O'Neil  ventures  in  and  listens,  also  Dickie  and  Billy  peep  in 
the  door.  Babe  waves  them  in  to  sit  down  beside  the  Keyman.  Last  of 
all  appears  Bobby  Spangler,  throwing  his  hat  up  'in  the  air  and  trying  to 
catch  it  on  his  head.  He  is  gay  and  yet  self-contained.  He  is  posing  as 
if  in  a  pantomime,  drawing  attention  to  himself.  One  by  one  each  draws 
attention  to  the  other  regarding  his  actions.  They  know  something  is 
going  to  happen.  He  begins  to  dance  a  jig  all  of  his  own  to  the  thrum 
ming  of  the  banjo,  and  the  cadence  of  the  refrain.  Without  stopping,  he 
meanders  to  where  Biddy  the  Bogie  is  sitting,  and  grabs  her  out  of  her 
chair  and  waltzes  her  around  the  room,  in  and  out  and  around  amid  the 
mops  and  pails  upon  the  floor,  to  which  she  lends  herself,  for  she  is  a 
natural-born  dancer,  yet  meanwhile  pretending  to  object  to  his  being  such 
"a  glegeen."  He  won't  let  her  go,  and  the  others  take  up  the  refrain  and 
clap  "juba,"  as  never  stopping  he  goes  to  his  mother  and  gives  her  his 
other  hand  and  then  begins  dancing  them  both,  one  with  each  arm.  This 
is  in  imitation  of  the  style  in  vogue  at  the  Grand  Opera  House  on  Mission 
street,  ivhere  Bonfanti  and  Sangalli  are  holding  high  revel  with  the 
Maestro  of  the  Ballet.  The  Bogie  is  the  first  to  come  to  her  senses  and 
she  tries  to  draw  away.) 

BIDDY  THE  BOGIE  :  What  d'ye  want  to  be  such  "a  glegeen"  fur ! 
Yer  always  "on  a  killarach !"  Let  me  go !  (she  pulls  away  from  him  and 
Mrs.  Spangler  recovers  her  dignity  also  and  reprimands  him.  At  this, 
left  partnerless  and  alone,  Bobby  executes  a  pas  scul;  holding  up 
imaginary  ballet-skirts,  he  makes  a  grand  pirouette,  and  stands  in  t he- 
center  of  the  room.) 

BOBBY  :  Wot  d'ye  think !  I'm  "on  the  foorce !"  As  luck  would  have 
it,  Maloney  was  right  there,  an'  Miss  Kate's  young  man  jist  spoke  to  him, 
dat's  all !  an'  I'm  "on" — I'm  goin'  on  tonight.  (they  all  indulge  in  a 
grand  hand-clapping.  Mrs.  Spangler  runs  to  him  and  embraces  him.  On 
the  floor,  amid  the  mops  and  pails,  crouches  Biddy  the  Bogie,  with  her 
apron  over  her  head,  and  she  is  sobbing,  convulsively.  She  can  stand  bad 


58  SOCIETY    A\'D    BABE    ROBINSON 

luck,  but  good  luck  is  more  than  she  can  bear.  Bobby  runs  to  her  and 
gets  down  on  the  floor  with  her.) 

BOBBY:  Sure, I'd  never  lived  to  grow  up.  Aunt  Biddy,  if  it  hadn't 
been  fur  you!  Manny's  the  time  you've  gone  hungry  so  I'd  be  fat  an' 
sassy.  Ye've  been  a  inither  to  me,  ye've  give  manny  a  foive-dollar-piece 
to  pay  the  bosses!  an'  sure  I'm  goin'  to  look  out  fur  ye  from  now  on.  Ye 
shan't  worrk  so  hard,  fer  now  I'll  be  havin'  a  hundcrd  a  month. 

(Biddy  the  Bogie  takes  her  apron  off  her  head  and  stands  admiringly 
gazing  at  her  nephew,  saying) :  "He's  morre  mine  than  he's  hern.  Ain't 
he  jist  said  I  was  a  mither  to'm?  (iveeps  for  pure  joy. 

Bobby  begins  to  shake  hands  with  every  one.    Conies  to  Keyman.) 

BOBBY  :  It  was  you  done  it,  Hennery !  It  was  you  got  me  "onto 
the  foorce!" 

KEYMAN  :  Naw  !  (growls,  as  if  to  show  he  is  impervious  to  flattery. 
Points  to  Kercheval.)  'Twas  Kertch  done  it.  He  interdooced  ye  to 
Maloney.  (Bobby  looks  bewildered.  Shakes  Kertch  by  the  hand.) 

MALCOLM  :  Say  !  You  fellows  !  It  seems  to  me  as  if  this  young  lady 
had  something  to  do  with  it.  She  wrote  the  letter,  didn't  she? 

MRS.  SPANGLER  (overflowing  with  feeling)  :  Sure!  little  gell,  it  was 
you  as  got  'im  on  the  force. 

MORTON  :  We  all  tried  our  best,  but  it  was  Babe,  after  all !  (he 
shakes  hands  with  her,  and  everybody  congratulates  her  on  her  success. 
Bogie  gathers  up  her  traps  and  goes  out.  Mrs.  Spangler  and  Bobby, 
Kertch  and  Keyman,  all  go,  Morton  and  Malcolm  last.  Sound  of  the 
fog-horn  is  heard  in  bctzvccn  times  growing  louder  and  more  distinct.) 

BABE  (goes  and  looks  out  of  the  window) :  Oh,  the  fog  is  coming 
in.  I  think  we'd  better  have  the  fire  made.  I'll  go  and  get  some  kindling. 
(goes. 

Lily  gets  up  and  tries  to  stand.  She  wrings  her  hands.  Puts  her 
hands  over  her  eyes.  Sobs.  Sighs.) 

LILY:     What  am  I  going  to  do?     I  don't  know! 

(Babe  returns,  with  Bogie  carrying  a  hod  of  coal.  Babe  is  carr\ing 
a  salver  containing  a  tea-pot  and  some  sandwiches  and  cake.) 

BABE  (cheerfully)  :  Mrs.  Spangler's  a  good  soul.  She  sent  this  up 
for  our  supper,  Lily,  and  I'm  glad  of  it.  Now,  we  can  eat  our  candy  in 
peace.  Won't  you  have  one,  Aunt  Biddy?  And  you  can  smell  my  violets, 
too. 

(ll'hile  they  are  talking  Lily  gives  wav  to  her  despair.  The  Bogie 
takes  notice.) 

BOGIE:  Och,  indade.  Miss  Lily!  You'll  be  havin'  a  chill.  Hurry 
an'  git  a  drink  of  the  tay,  t'll  do  ye  good,  Miss.  (Babe  pours  it  out.  And 
one  cup  for  the  Bogie  and  one  for  herself.  Fire  blazes  up.  Fog-horn  is 
heard  again.  Babe  passes  box  of  sweets  to  Lil\ ;  but  she  waves  it  awa\>. 
Bogie  takes  notice.) 

BOGIE:  Indade,  Miss  Lily,  an'  Oi'll  be  in  here  wid  a  pail  o'  hot 
wather  and  some  mustard  fur  ye  to  put  yer  futs  in,  before  ye  tro  to  bed 
this  night! 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  59 

LILY:  But  there's  nothing  the  matter, — only  that  old  fog-horn.  It 
sounds  so  melancholy,  as  if  the  end  of  the  world  had  come. 

BABE  (mischievously  to  Bogie)  :  Now,  I  suppose  you  will  be  want 
ing  to  go  out  there,  somewhere,  and  get  at  that  .old  fog-horn,  and  hush 
it  up  just  'cause  it  worries  Lily.  It  would  be  just  like  you ! 

BOGIE  (earnestly):  An'  why  not,  thin?  Wasn't  Oi  a  young  gell 
mesilf  onct,  and  didn't  everything  be  a  throuble  to  me?  It's  sorry  I  am 
fer  ye,  ye  pore  young  sowls  gittin'  in  hive  an'  all  that?  Now,  if  she's 
no  betther  ye  must  let  me  know  an'  Oi'll  be  a  mither  to  hur !  (starts  to  go. 
Babe  runs  after  her,  puts  her  arms  around  her,  and  gives  her  a  good 
hug.  Bogie  goes.) 

BABE  (returns  to  fire  and  warms  her  hands)  :  Well,  it  is  nice  to 
think  of  Kate  being  so  happy.  She  deserves  it.  Those  who  are  honest 
and  good,  ought  to  have  a  happy  end  to  their  lives.  But  they  don't,  al 
ways. 

(Lily  shivers,  and  covers  her  face  with  her  hands.) 

BABE  (continuing):  This  is  a  tough  old  world,  Lily,  isn't  it?  A 
whole  family  may  be  respected  and  be  nice  for  generations;  but  just  let 
one  black  sheep  of  a  woman  be  among  them,  and  she  can  pull  the  whole 
of  them  down  together,  and  the  poor  unfortunate  generations  ahead  of 
them,  even.  It's  the  old  story!  The  innocent  for  the  guilty. 

LILY  (startled)  :     Why,  Babe !     What  do  you  mean  ? 

BABE:  Well,  I'm  just  thinking  what  an  awful  serious  thing  it  is  to 
be  born  a  woman.  If  she  does  wrong,  her  shame  can  never  die  out.  It 
lives  on  and  on,  and  all  her  kith  and  kin  have  to  suffer  for  her  wrong 
doing.  It  doesn't  seem  right  that  they  who  are  good  and  honest  should 
have  to  bear  the  shame,  does  it,  Lily?  (listlessly  Babe  turns  her  gaze 
upon  her  companion's  face.  Suddenly  she  feels  'herself  drawn,  as  by  a 
spell.  Lil\'s  eves  are  fixed  upon  her  with  a  horror  that  tells  of  a  secret 
agony  within,  struggling  for  utterance.) 

BABE  (whispers)  :     Why,  Lily!    How  you  frighten  me!    What  is  it? 

LILY  (regaining  self-command.  Fog-horn  wails) :  Nonsense !  I 
tell  you,  it  is  that  awful  sound !  and  you  go  on  talking  about  such  horrid 
things  that  I've  got  a  regular  fit  of  the  blues,  (she  covers  her  face  with 
her  hands  while  Babe  begs  her  forgiveness,  and  tries  to  be  more  cheerful.) 

BABE:  It  is  getting  late.  I  guess  we'd  better  make  up  the  bed- 
lounge,  and  find  out  how  we  two  are  going  to  get  along  together,  now 
that  Kate  is  gone.  You  know,  she  was  our  main-stay,  (goes  to  bed- 
lounge,  opens  it,  and  begins  to  prepare  for  retiring.)  Perhaps  sleep  will 
make  us  forget  our  troubles,  and  then  we'll  wake  up  all  bright  and  happy 
in  the  morning,  (spoken  joyously. 

Lil\  puts  her  head  on  the  table  and  begins  to  sob.  Babe  runs  to  her 
to  comfort  her.) 

LILY  :  I  shall  never,  never,  never  wake  up  bright  and  happy  in  the 
morning  again.  (Babe  comforts  her.  After  a  pause.)  I'm  in  great 
trouble,  Babe,  great  trouble.  I  don't  believe  any  cue  can  help  me. 

BABE:  I  will  help  you.  You  can  trust  me.  Don't  I  know  what 
trouble  is? 


60  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

LILY  :     But  never  such  trouble  as  mine. 

BABE  :  Oh,  don't  say  that !  You  make  me  think  it  is  something 
terrible ! 

LILY:  Well,  it  is  terrible.  Come  close.  Let  me  whisper.  (Babe 
puts  her  car  for  the  confession.) 

BABE  (drawing  away  in  horror)  :  Not  that !  Not  that !  You  had 
only  one  thing  in  the  world  worth  having,  and  that  was  your  good  name. 
And  now  you  have  lost  that  ?  Oh  my !  Oh  my !  ( Lily  wails  in  her  deep 
despair,  and  Babe  joins  her.  They  weep  together.) 

(End  of  Scene  Two.) 

SCENE  III. 

(Scene  outside  the  door  in  the  hall.  Morton  is  passing.  He  stops 
and  is  bewildered.  Presently  the  Bogie  comes  in,  in  her  big  frilled  night 
cap  and  thick  petticoat  and  short  jacket,  with  pail  in  hand.) 

MORTON  :  Mrs.  Egan !  Please  won't  you  go  in  and  see  what  is  the 
matter.  Something  must  be  wrong. 

BIDDY:  That  Oi  will,  Mr.  Morton!  You  know  gells  will  be  gells. 
Oi've  me  pail  o'  hot  wather,  all  riddy,  fur  Oi'm  thinkin'  Miss  Lily's  got 
a  chill. 

MORTON  :     Do  hurry,  and  let  me  know  if  I  can  be  of  any  use. 

BIDDY:  That  Oi  will,  sure!  (she  goes  in.  Presently  a  worse  zvail 
goes  up,  like  the  voice  of  a  banshee.  It  is  the  Bogie  joining  the  other  two.) 

MORTON  (apprehensively)  :  Great  Heavens !  What  can  be  going  on 
in  there?  I  hope  nothing  lias  happened  to  poor  little  Babe!  (Enter  the 
Bogie.) 

THE  BOGIE  (in  powerful  stage  whispers,  placing  her  hand  on  Mor 
ton's  shoulder)  :  Pore  sowl !  (she  zvccps  again.) 

MORTON  (entrcatingly)  :     Who  is  a  poor  soul?    Not  Babe? 

BOGIE:  Go  'long  wid  ye!  Av  coorse  not.  The  swate  childer!  But 
she  wants  to  help  the  ither  wan.  An'  Oi'm  goin'  tuh  help  all  Oi  kin! 
(voice  breaks.) 

MORTON  (anxiously):     What  can  I  do? 

BOGIE:  Misther  Morton,  cud  ye  git  worrd  tnh  Sister  Gertrude  the 
night?  Thot  pore  Lily!  (cries  again}  She's  bin  betrayed  by  a  villyun— 
he  promussed  to  marry  her. 

MORTON  (enraged)  :     The  hound  !    He  ought  to  be  killed ! 

BOGIE:  He  tould  her  her  ctildn't  kape  his  worrd  'cause  his  folks 
was  in  Serciety. 

MORTON  :     He  shall  answer  to  me,  the  cur ! 

THE  BOGIE:  Och,  Misther  Morton,  she  says  she  doesn't  want  to 
live!  She  hopes  she'll  die — an'  Oi'm  afeard  she  will — she's  thot  wake 
and  faint,  like  she  has  no  stringth  left  in  her. 

MORTON  (strangely  affected) :  Mrs.  Egan,  promise  me  to  take  good 
care  of  Babe  while  I  am  away.  I'll  stay  over  a  day  and  help  you — help 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  61 

you  all  I  can.     Now,  I'll  go  for  Sister  Gertrude.     (Morton  goes.     Wails 
of  fog-horn  and  voices  commingled.) 

(End  of  Third   Scene.) 

SCENE  IV. 

(Small  alley  near  Tehama  and  Fourth  streets.  Fog-horn  heard  at  in 
tervals.  A  high  board-fence  zvith  door  cut  in,  as  if  it  were  once  an  old 
carpenter-shop.  Boarded  up  and  abandoned.  Children  walking  up  and 
down  and  playing  games  and  quarreling.  Mollie  Darling  passes  by 
quickly.  Two  detectives  are  slowly  following  her.  She  catches  sight  of 
them  and  hastens  away.  Schlosser,  the  keyman,  meets  them.  He  gives 
no  sign,  nor  does  Mollie.  Schlosser  goes  on  to  the  end  of  the  alley-zvay, 
and  then  retraces  his  steps.  That  door  in  the  fence  has  a  fascination  for 
him.  Finally  he  gives  a  signal  and  tattoo  at  the  dooj .  Some  one  responds. 
A  bolt  is  drawn.) 

KEYMAN  :  It's  me,  Henry !  I  got  it !  Here  it  is,  and  a  pretty  fine 
shooter,  too.  I  found  it. 

BELMOUR:     That's  good.    Thank  you,  Henry. 

KEYMAN  :  Now,  if  only  I  kin  git  the  money,  ye  kin  sure  git  away. 
I'm  keepin'  on  tryin',  an'  thin  ye  kin  go  off  on  the  China  steamer,  fer  yer 
health. 

BELMOUR:  Too  good  to  be  true.  How's  Mollie?  (his  face  shows 
white  and  tense.) 

KEYMAN  :  She's  a  leadin'  them  fellers  a  merry  chase.  That's  what ! 
but  she's  got  enough  for  one  ticket,  almost. 

(Measured  step  is  heard  on  the  zvooden  side-walk.  It  is  slow  and 
steady,  as  if  the  new-comer  has  all  the  time  in  the  world  at  liis  disposal. 
It  is  'the  majestic  footfall  of  the  law.) 

KEYMAN  (whispering)  :  It  is  a  cop.  Never  knowed  one  down  here 
before,  (he  clings  to  the  wall,  trying  to  make  himself  as  flat  as  possible. 
The  steps  come  very  near,  then  the  guardian  of  the  peace  turns  abou^ 
leisurely  and  zvalks  'back  again,  head  up,  eye  straight  forward.  As  the 
policeman  reaches  the  corner  and  goes  around,  the  Keyman  breathes  freely 
once  more.) 

KEYMAN  :     That's  a  close  call !     Guess  I'll  make  a  sneak. 

BELMOUR:     Good  night. 

KEYMAN  :     Same  to  you.     (Belmour  draws  the  bolt. 

As  the  Keyman  ventures  up  to  the  corner  and  rounds  it,  he  finds 
himself  caught  in  the  arms  of  a  mighty  policeman.  He  tries  to  shrink 
out  of  the  clutch  of  the  man  until  he  hears  a  guffaw  bursting  from  the 
burly  form  of  him,  and  recognizes  him  as  Bobby  Spangler.) 

SPANGLER:  I  t'ought  I'd  skeer  yous.  I  knowed  it  was  you  goin' 
down  there.  Ha !  Ha ! 

KEYMAN  (faintly)  :     I  knowed  it  was  you,  too.     Ha !  Ha ! 

SPANGLER  (indifferently):  What  was  ye  after?  (And  then  in  a 
clumsy  attempt  to  be  satirical.)  Was  it  the  big  reward  of  the  Wells 


62 


SOCIETY    AXD    BABE    RO  BIX  SON 


Fargo  fur  that  stage-robber,  up  there  somewhcres  ?  Sloss!  We'd  do 
a  fine  thing,  if  we  cud  git  that !  My !  but  it  wud  set  us  up  in  business 
fur  they've  made  it  five  thousand,  now,  so  Maloney  says. 

KEYMAN  (trying  to  conceal  his  feelings  of  astonishment)  :  Ha!  Ha! 
(He  looks  up  into  the  face  of  Spongier  with  a  furtive  expression,  as 
sinister  emotions  begin  to  surge  through  him.)  But  what  did  the  poor 
devil  ever  do  to  us? 

SPANGLER:  Nawthin.  Only  somebody's  goin'  to  git  it,  and  it  might 
as  well  be  us !  But  this  is  the  end  of  my  beat,  and  I  must  go  back,  (slaps 
Kevman  on  the  back.)  Little  did  we  think  wen  we  was  goin'  to  the  Rincon 
School,  that  we'd  be  walking  along  like  this,  talkin'  about  gittin'  rich  all 
at  onct.  Good-bye,  (turns  back.) 

KEYMAN:  So  long!  See  yer  termorrer!  (makes  a  peculiar  con 
tortion,  wrestling  with  the  temptation,  suddenly  thrust  upon  him.)  It's 
him !  He's  a  stage-robber,  an'  he's  kilt  the  stage-driver !  Five  thousand 
dollars !  (to  himself,  violently,  as  if  catching  hold  of  another  person  than 
himself.  Beats  himself  on  the  breast.)  No!  ye  don't!  Not  wile  I'm  here! 
lie's  been  wite  to  me.  He's  my  fren' !  (shambles  off.  Wail  of  fog-horn.) 

(End  of  Fourth  Scene  of  Third  Act.) 


ACT  IV.      Scene  I. 


(Nob  Hill,  California  street,  near  Taylor.  Exterior  of  Miss  Harring 
ton's  mansion.  Carpet  spread  with  canopy  over  from  entrance  to  the 
edge  of  the  sidewalk  showing  that  slippered  feet  are  to  pass  that  way. 
The  marriage  at  the  church  is  over,  and  wedding- guests  and  bridal-party 
are  returning  home  for  the  reception.  Poor  people  are  gathering  to  gaze 
on  the  scene.  A  policeman  comes  and  amiably  directs  them  to  stand  on 
each  side  instead  of  blocking  the  way.  Among  the  poor  people  are  a 
Young  Woman,  a  Child,  an  Old  Woman,  and  an  Old  Man.  These  make 
comments  on  the  wedding- guests  as  they  arrive.) 

CHILD  (clapping  her  hands)  :  Oh,  there  she  comes.  Ain't  she  a 
pretty  bride,  though? 

YOUNG  WOMAN  :     And  see  the  groom !  He's  handsome,  too. 

OLD  WOMAN  :  Well,  they've  got  my  good  wishes !  for  she  deserves 
all  the  luck  in  the  world,  for  she  had  to  work  for  her  livin' !  An'  she  was 
good  to  her  brother,  too. 

(Bride  and  groom  pass  by  while  bursts  of  music  of.  Mendelssohn's 
Wedding  March  come  from  within.  Miss  Harrington  folloivs  with  Mal 
colm  as  escort.) 

OLD  MAN  (indifferently,  as  if  he  did  not  care  either  way,  only  speaks 
to  show  that  he  knows  a  thing  or  two,  himself)  :  An'  who's  the  proud 
dame  that  has  the  "Silver  threads  among  the  gold?" 

OE.D  WOMAN  (warningly)  :  Hush,  she'll  hear  you !  That's  Miss 
Harrington,  one  of  the  leaders  of  Society.  She  does  lots  of  things  for 
poor  folks. 

OLD  MAN  (drawlingly)  :  Wall,  I  wish — she'd — do — something — for 
us. 

OLD  WOMAN  (warningly)  :     Hush!    That  isn't  polite ! 

(Door  is  wide  open.  Music  continues.  Murray,  the  butler,  stands 
stately  and  grand,  directing  guests.  Maids  lead  the  way.  Dr.  Kerchei'al 
of  Sacramento,  Captain  Emmons  and  wife  pass  by  and  go  within.) 

OLD  MAN  :     There's  style  for  you.     Regular  'ristocrats  I  call  'cm. 

(Morton  and  his  mother  appear.  Mrs.  Morton  is  very  elegantly 
attired  in  brocaded  silk  and  ermine  cloak,  with  hair  in  white  puffs  over 
her  head.) 

YOUNG  WOMAN  :  My!  What  beautiful  white  hair !  She  looks  like 
a  duchess. 

OLD  MAN  (familiarly)  :  Oh,  I  know  him.  Why,  that's  Morton,  the 
newspaper  man.  He's  just  come  into  a  fortune. 

(Passing  by  are  Miss  Marie  Castlcton  with  her  sisters,  Lina  and 
Jenny,  accompanied  by  escorts,  while  Mrs.  Castlcton  is  being  escorted  by 
her  son,  Jim  Castlcton.) 


64-  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBIXSON 

YOUNG  WOMAN  :  My !  But  them  girls  have  a  good  time !  They're 
always  havin'  routs  and  balls  and  horse-back  parties  an'  silk  dresses  an' 
everything  they  want. 

OLD  MAN  (in  high-keyed  voice)  :  Wall,  that  young  feller's  no  good. 
I  don't  take  no  stock  in  him. 

OLD  WOMAN  :  No,  nor  I.  Did  you  see  how  poor  Lily  White  was 
buried  the  other  day?  Poor  thing!  He  promised  to  marry  her,  but  he 
said  he  couldn't  keep  his  word,  'cause  his  folks  was  in  Society.  An'  she 
died  of  a  broken  heart. 

YOUNG  WOMAN  :     You  don't  say?    Isn't  that  just  too  pitiful? 

OLD  WOMAN  :  Yes.  And  if  she  hadn't  had  some  good  friends  at 
the  last,  she'd  a  been  buried  in  the  Potter's  Field. 

YOUNG  WOMAN  :     Mercy,  mercy  me ! 

OLD  WOMAN  :  Yes,  and  her  baby's  in  the  Infant  Shelter!  and  a  rich 
lady  has  adopted  it!  It's  one  of  the  most  beautiful  little  things  you  ever 
saw  in  your  life. 

YOUNG  WOMAN:     You  don't  say  so? 

OLD  MAN:  Quit  yer  talkin'.  Taint  proper.  But  who's  this 
a-comin'?  Some  queer  folks  fur  a  weddin'  like  this.  Ain't  they? 

(Appears  a  motley  group  at  this  moment  in  irregular  marching  order. 
Mrs.  Spangler  is  in  a  tawdry  red  velvet  gown  trimmed  with  gold  lace 
like  a  theatrical  queen.  In  a  dress  suit  is  her  son,  Bobbv  Spangler.  In  her 
sister's  broche  shawl  and  best  velvet  bonnet  hobbles  along  the  Bogie 
muttering  to  herself  like  a  witch  that  has  lost  her  way.  Then  follow  Mr. 
O'Ncil  and  Barney  faultlessly  gotten  up,  and  walking  together.) 

YOUNG  WOMAN  :  Oh,  that  must  be  the  nurse  of  the  bride  when  she 
was  a  baby  and  she's  invited  the  whole  raft  of  them !  You  can  see  that 
easy  enough. 

OLD  WOMAN:  Xo,  it  ain't;  That's  Mrs.  Spangler,  and  she  used  to 
be  the  bride's  landlady.  And  I  think  it  was  very  nice  of  the  bride  to 
invite  her  old  friends  to  the  weddin'  even  if  they  are  poor. 

OLD  MAX  :  What  air  you  a  talkin'  about?  Why,  that's  O'Neil,  the 
workin'  man!  He  collects  rents  all  over  town.  An'  the  other!  Why, 
he's  Barney,  the  nigger-minstrel,  and  he's  "some  punkins"  I  kin  tell  you ! 
Even  the  'ristocrats  pay  their  good  money  to  hear  him  sing  "Flewy- 
flewy."  He's  a  great  man,  he  is ! 

(Next  come  Mrs.  Gusset  and  Kree  and  Dickie  and  Billy,  the  latter 
two  pointing  their  fingers,  and  Kree  trying  to  keep  them  from  doing  so. 
Next  follows  Parson  Hager  with  a  young  ladv  on  his  arm.  She  is  in  a 
goivn  of  green  satin  with  terra-cotta  ruffles,  very  elaborated  and 
Frenchifiedt  with  angel  sleeves  and  long  train.  The  waist  is  very  tightly 
laced  in.  This  creation  from  Paris  has  lain  in  the  bottom  of  a  trunk  for 
twenty-five  years.  The  owner  was  in  mourning  when  it  arrived  and  it 
went  out  of  style  so  quickly  that  she  could  never  wear  it.  After  many 
years  this  trunk  was  passed  on  to  a  dealer  in  second-hand  clothes.  Mrs. 
Spangler  hai'ing  chosen  a  red  velvet  gozvn  for  herself,  advises  the  child 
to  try  on  this  creation.  It  fits  her  to  perfection  and  it  is  brand-new. 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  65 

"Lcddics  allns  wears  trails  to  weddin's"  urges  the  good-hearted  Irish 
woman.  So  the  bargain  is  made  and  thus  they  are  arrayed  for  this  grand 
occasion.  Inside  this  wonderful  green  satin  and  terra-cotta  combination 
is  Babe  Robinson,  ill  at  ease  and  uncomfortable — a  child  masquerading  as 
a  young  lady  in  grotesquerie.) 

YOUNG  WOMAN  (slightly  surprised)  :  My !  don't  that  one  look 
queer  ? 

OLD  WOMAN  :  She's  a  nice  little  gal  just  the  same,  even  if  she  is 
fixed  up  too  much. 

OLD  MAN:  And  them!  What's  them?  Wall,  by  gum,  if  it  ain't 
the  Keyman  an'  his  chump ! 

(Following  closely  come  the  last  of  this  motley  group,  two  young 
men  in  full  dress  suits.  One  is  faultless  in  his  bearing  as  if  to  the  manner 
born;  this  is  Alfred  Kercheval.  The  other  is  slouching  along  with  an 
invisible  load  of  keys  on  his  back,  glowering  and  suspicious  but  endeavor 
ing  to  look  like  a  wedding-guest.  This  is  Henry  Schlosser,  the  Keyman. 
They  pass  within.) 

YOUNG  WOMAN  :     Well,  of  all  things  ! 

OLD  MAN  (drawlingly)  :  I — always — did — say — a — dress-suit— 
don't — care — who — wears — it. 

(Murray,  the  butler,  directs  these  last  guests  and  then  closes  the  door. 
Outside  loiterers  sigh,  and  one  by  one,  depart.) 

OLD  WOMAN  :  Well,  I  must  say  I  enjoyed  it  all  very  much.  And  I 
hope  the  bride  will  be  happy. 

YOUNG  WOMAN:     So  do  I.     (The  last. one  goes.) 
(End  of  First  Scene  of  Fourth  Act.) 


SCENE  II. 

(Interior  of  Miss  Harrington's  drawing  room.  Music,  dancing  of 
Couples,  bride  and  groom  standing.  Wedding-guests  offering  congratu 
lations.) 

KATE  (to  Malcolm )  :  I  can't  understand  it.  You  say  they  haven't 
come  yet?  (greets  next  guest — Captain  and  Mrs.  Emnwns.)  So  you  are 
leaving  on  the  China  steamer,  tomorrow,  too? 

MRS.  EMMONS:  Yes.  With  my  adopted  baby.  She  is  such  a  little 
beauty. 

MARIE  CASTLETON  :  Indeed,  she  is!  You  know  she  was  the  pet 
of  the  Infant  Shelter!  And  we  could  hardly  give  her  up,  only  it  was 
best  for  her,  of  course. 

KATE  (to  Malcolm)  :  Go  and  see  if  you  can't  find  them.  I  am  afraid 
Miss  Harrington  has  sent  them  away.  You  know  she  didn't  want  them 
to  come;  but  I  was  determined  that  my  old  friends  should  share  my 
happiness. 

Miss  HARRINGTON  (aside  to  the  butler):  Murray!  Did  you  put 
those  people  down  stairs,  as  I  told  you  ? 

MURRAY  (deferentially)  :     I  did,  Miss  Harrington. 


66  SOCIETY    AXD    BABE    ROBINSON 

Miss  HARRINGTON:  You  may  serve  them  down  there,  Murray. 
Give  them  all  the  ice-cream  and  cake  they  can  eat ;  but  do  not  let  them 
come  up-stairs. 

MURRAY:  Yes,  Miss  Harrington.  No,  Miss  Harrington,  (bows 
mechanically. 

Kate  sees  Malcolm,  fetching  them  all  with  him.  Murray  tries  to  keep 
them  back,  but  at  the  resistance  put  up,  he  yields  and  steps  to  one  side  to 
let  them  pass,  so  in  they  come,  quite  a  wild  group  all  together.  Mrs. 
Spangler,  Bobby  with  Biddy  the  Bogie  at  the  head  of  the  procession;  Mrs. 
Gusset  and  with  children  still  pointing  fingers  at  everything  they  see; 
Babe  and  the  Parson,  Barney  and  O'Neil.  Schlosser  and  Al  Kercheval. 
Evcr\bod\  looks  in  amazement.  Miss  Harrington  is  shaking  her  head  in 
displeasure  at  Murrav.  Dr.  Kercheval,  who  is  talking  to  Mrs.  Castlcton, 
starts  at  sight  of  his  runaway  son.  Morton,  at  sight  of  Babe,  is  aware 
that  his  mother  will  not  "take"  to  such  a  dowdy,  as  she  appears  to  be. 
The  Castlcton  girls  and  their  escorts  are  smiling,  but  Marie,  the  kindest- 
hearted  of  the  family,  joins  them  to  help  present  them  to  Kate  with  less 
embarrassment.  People  are  all  inclined  to  ridicule  the  bride  for  having 
such  friends.  But  Kate  receives  them  all  bravely,  and  keeps  Babe  by 
the  hand  while  she  whispers  to  Malcolm  to  take  them  all  back  again  to 
where  he  found  them.) 

KATE:  Now,  Malcolm,  you  see  to  their  comfort,  and  I  will  be  there 
later. 

(Marie  takes  little  Kree  by  the  hand  and  Malcolm  the  two  little  boys. 
As  all  arc  going,  one  of  the  escorts  of  the  Castleion  girls  intercepts  the 
group,  delightedly  claiming  'acquaintance  with  Barney,  who  is  a  great 
favorite  with  the  public.  Barney  introduces  his  friend,  O'Neil,  and  these 
two  are  then  introduced  bv  the  young  man  to  his  crowd  who  make  a  great 
fuss  over  them.  The\  think  O'Neil  is  a  minstrel,  too.  Lina  and  Jenny 
rattle  on  at  a  great  rate  talking  about  "Flewy-flewy"  and  ''My  Father 
Sold  Charcoal"  and  "My  Gal,  My  Gal,"  "Over  the  Garden  Wall"  and  the 
popular  songs  of  the  hour.  The  others  of  the  group  disappear.) 

Miss  HARRINGTON  (obviously  relieved,  as  she  sees  them  retiring)  : 
That  was  the  bride's  old  nurse  and  her  family.  She  is  so  charitable  she 
did  not  wish  to  leave  them  out.  You  ought  to  get  her  to  join  some  of 
your  societies,  Mrs.  Castleton.  You  know,  I  do  believe  in  charity. 

MRS.  CASTLETON:  So  do  I.  May  be  Marie  could  get  her  to  help 
in  the  Infant  Shelter!  You  know,  that  is  where  Mrs.  Emmons  got  that 
beautiful  baby  to  adopt,  that  she  is  going  to  take  with  her  to  China.  And, 
by  the  way,  we  are  going  down  tomorrow  to  see  her  off.  Won't  you 
come  too,  Miss  Harrington  ?  and  we  can  all  see  the  bride  off,  too. 

Miss  HARRINGTON:  I  certainly  will.  I  like  to  see  those  great  ships 
leaving  our  port.  It  is  so  interesting,  (murmur  together.) 

KATE  (to  Babe,  whom  she  detains,  holding  her  by  the  hand)  :  Why 
didn't  you  wear  the  dress  I  sent  you? — a  simple  dress  of  white  satin? 

\\.\HK  (with  wide-opened  eyes):  I  get  a  dress?  Do  you  think  I 
would  have  worn  a  queer  thing  like  this,  if  I  had? 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  67 

KATE:  I  sent  one,  when  I  sent  the  box  for  the  Gussets.  There 
must  have  been  a  mistake. 

BABE  (sturdily}  :  It  can't  be  helped,  now !  I've  got  to  put  it  through 
in  this  wild  toggery.  Do  I  look  so  very  awful? 

KATE  :  Very  awful  indeed  !  Why,  you  look  like  a  comic  valentine ! 
I  can't  imagine,  but  yes,  I  can.  It  is  Mrs.  Spangler's  doings,  of  course. 

(Will  Harrington,  the  husband,  introduces  some  men-friends  of  his, 
and  Babe  is  edged  to  one  side.  She  looks  mournfully  around  the  room, 
at  the  faces  of  the  wedding-guests.  She  sees  Morton  standing  beside  a 
handsome  elderly  lady,  with  snowy  puffs  of  hair.  She  knows  it  is  his 
mother — the  mother  he  had  told  her  would  be  her  friend.  But  Morton 
makes  no  move  toward  her.  She  realizes  that  he  is  ashamed  of  her  be 
cause  of  her  clothes.  However,  some  one  is  standing  near,  and  it  is 
Malcolm.) 

MALCOLM:     Well,  how  are  you  enjoying  the  wedding? 

BABE  (with  a  bursting  heart)  :  What  ?  Are  you  not  afraid  to  speak 
to  me  in  such  an  old-fashioned  gown  as  this  ? 

MALCOLM:  Why!  What's  the  matter  with  it?  It  looks  pretty  fine 
silk  to  me.  You  look  as  if  you  had  just  stepped  out  of  a  picture.  You 
do,  really ! 

MORTON  (to  himself)  :  Great  Heavens !  What  am  I  going  to  do  ? 
She's  gone  and  spoiled  everything !  I  know  that  mother  will  freeze  up 
at  sight  of  such  a  little  dowdy  as  this.  Where,  under  the  sun,  did  she 
get  such  a  crazy  rig?  Poor  little  thing!  I've  got  to  make  the  best  of  it, 
somehow.  (Morton  crosses  the  room,  and  offers  his  arm  to  Babe,  with 
the  air  of  a  martyr.  She  looks  at  him,  gravely.) 

MORTON  (to  Babe)  :  I  want  to  have  you  meet  my  mother.  (Babe 
takes  his  arm.  He  leads  her  across,  and  goes  through  the  form  of  intro 
duction,  without  any  zest,  ^whatever.)  Miss  Robinson,  this  is  my  mother, 
Mrs.  Morton. 

(The  child  looks  at  her,  yearningly,  but  her  train  gets  in  the  way, 
and  she  stumbles  over  it,  while  Mrs.  Morton  gazes  coldly  at  her,  and 
wishes  her  son  would  pay  his  attentions  to  Miss  Castleton,  instead  of  to 
this  crude  person.  Babe  takes  it  all  in.  She  realizes  she  is  a  failure.  And 
at  once  she  leaves  them,  and  makes  for  the  door,  and  there  is  no  one  to 
say:  "Don't  go,"  for  Morton  is  too  mortified  to  speak.) 

BABE  (tearfully)  :  I  know  what  I'll  do.  I'll  go  and  hide  myself 
and  my  foolish  gown  from  all  the  world!  (as  she  attempts  to  go  through 
the  door,  some  one  catches  her  by  her  wide  sleeve  that  is  so  out-of-date, 
and  detains  her.  It  is  Malcolm.) 

MALCOLM  :  What's  the  matter  ?  Doesn't  Joe  Morton  like  your 
green  satin  dress?  Well,  I  do.  It  looks  just  like  the  French  picture  on 
the  wall  up  there — like  the  Empress  Eugenie  and  her  Court.  See,  if  it 
doesn't !  Where  did  you  get  it  ? 

BABE  (mournfully)  :  It  was  at  a  second-hand  shop.  It  came  out  of 
a  trunk  of  a  very  rich  lady  who  has  been  dead  for  many  years.  Nobody 


68  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

ever  had  this  dress  on,  because  the  lady  was  in  mourning  when  it  came, 
but  she  kept  it  in  her  trunk  just  the  same,  because  it  was  made  in  Paris. 

MALCOLM  (defiantly):  Of  course.  Anybod>  could  see  that!  As 
for  Joe  Morton !  I'll  go  and  punch  his  head  for  him.  What  do  you  care? 
He's  nothing  much  to  go  back  on  a  girl  on  account  of  her  clothes. 
(scornfully.) 

BABE  (childishly)  :  Of — course — fashions — are — always — changing 
— all — the — time. 

MALCOLM  (chuckling):  Of  course!  Besides  Kate  said  for  me  to 
keep  you  here  till  she  came.  Something's  going  to  happen.  You  are 
going  to  have  a  big  surprise. 

(She  starts  for  the  hall  to  escape.  She  does  not  understand.  Enter 
Kate  from  the  hall,  hurriedly.) 

KATE:     Why,  Babe!   Where  are  you  going? 

BABE  (bluntly):  Home!  Society  and  I  don't  get  along  together, 
very  well. 

KATE  :  Nonsense !  I  could  not  rest,  the  way  things  were,  so  I  went 
up  stairs  to  my  room,  and  found  your  dress  was  sent  to  me  by  mistake, 
and  there  it  is !  Just  you  run  up  to  my  room  and  put  it  on.  The  French 
maid  is  waiting  for  you !  Be  as  quick  as  you  can. 

BABE  (stupidly):     What?    What  do  you  mean,  Kate? 

KATE:  Oh,  you  little  goose.  Run  along!  And  Malcolm  will  be 
here,  waiting  for  you  when  you  come  back.  Hurry ! 

(ll'ith  a  final  stumble  oi'cr  her  train.  Babe  goes.  Kate  resumes  her 
place  beside  her  husband,  W ill  Harrington,  and  continues  talking  to  her 
guests  animatedly.  Jim  Cast  let  on  and  fci'o  young  men.  the  escorts  of 
Lina  and  Jenny,  approach  Malcolm  inhere  he  stands.  First  young  man 
shakes  hands,  and  then  second  young  man.) 

FIRST  YOUNG  MAN  :     Well,  Malcolm,  I  suppose  you're  going  to  help 
us  try  our  Whitehall  boat,  tomorrow? 
MALCOLM  :     Yes,  I  won't  forget. 

SECOND  YOUNG  MAN  :     Wre  depend  on  you,  Malcolm ! 
MALCOLM:     All  right.     I'll  be  there. 

JIM  CASTLETON  (patronizingly,  holding  out  his  hand)  :  How  are 
you,  Malcolm : 

MALCOLM  (starts  back  suddenly  and  puts  his  hand  behind  him)  :  I 
don't  know  you,  sir. 

J  i  M  CASTLETON  :  Hear  that,  boys  ?  He  says  he  doesn't  know  me ! 
Introduce  me.  (has  been  drinking  champagne.) 

FIRST  YOUNG  MAN  :  This  is  Jim — one  of  the  fellows  you  know— 
a  good,  all-round  sport. 

SECOND  YOUNG  MAN  :  He  helps  us  in  lots  of  things !  Does  lots  for 
charity. 

MALCOLM  (stubbornly)  :  I  don't  know  him,  and  I  don't  want  to 
know  him. 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  69 

JIM:  What!  You!  You  hanger-on  of  Harrington's !  You  scamp! 
Do  you  mean  to  insult  me  ? 

MALCOLM:  Yes.  And  I'm  too  good  to  know  you!  I'm  an  adopted 
brother  of  Lily  White's  and  you  don't  think  a  brother  of  hers  would  want 
to  shake  hands  with  you,  do  you? 

(Jim  gets  a  shock  from  these  words.  He  gasps  for  breath,  and  reels 
backward.) 

MRS.  CASTLETON  (coming  forward)  :  Oh,  my  son !  What  is  the 
matter?  I  fear  he  is  going  to  have  one  of  his  attacks! 

FIRST  YOUNG  MAN  :     He's  all  right,  he  just  needs  a  little  fresh  air. 

SECOND  YOUNG  MAN  (throw's  up  the  window.    They  go  out  of  sight. 

Enter  Babe,  who  is  a  vision  of  beauty,  in  a  white  satin  gown, 
princess  style,  made  short,  with  zvhite  slippers  on  and  white  ribbons  in 
her  hair,  which  is  tied  back  in  youthful  style  A  fluffy,  white,  circular  fan 
hangs  by  a  white  ribbon  at  her  side.  She  stands  near  Malcolm,  zvho 
slowly  awakens  to  the  fact  that  she  is  there.  He  offers  her  his  arm,  and 
takes  her  to  Kate,  who  introduces  her  to  her  husband  all  over  again,  and 
he  understands,  and  introduces  her  to  his  friends,  as  if  she  were  a  Cin 
derella,  arrived  at  the  ball  late.) 

BABE  (confidentially  to  Malcolm)  :  Don't  let  anybody  know  I  am 
the  same  girl  that  was  in  the  green  gown,  will  you  ? 

MALCOLM  :     No.  But  I  liked  the  other  dress  too.  It  was  picture-skew.* 

MRS.  EMMONS  (to  Marie  Castleton)  :  Who  is  the  beautiful  young 
girl  talking  to  Mrs.  Harrington? 

MARIE  :  Why,  I  don't  know,  (turning  to  Mrs.  Morton  and  her  son, 
Joe  Morton.)  Mr.  Morton,  do  you  know,  who  it  is?  Mrs.  Emmons 
would  like  to  know — that  charming  little  girl  who  just  came  in? 

MORTON  (gazing  at  her  in  amazement)  :  I  think  I  do  know.  Yes. 
Ah  !  I  know  her  very  well.  I'll  bring  her  to  meet  you  all.  I  have  spoken 
of  her  to  my  mother.  You  know,  mother,  little  Babe  Robinson,  (he 
goes  to  the  group,  where  Babe  is  talking  animatedly  with  some  of  Mr. 
Harrington's  friends,  waving  her  fan  slowly,  and  trying  to  do  credit  to 
Kate.) 

MORTON  (with  a  frowm,  and  yet  offering  his  arm,  for  the  second 
time)  :  Babe  !  I  want  to  introduce  you  to  my  mother. 

BABE  (with  playful  sarcasm)  :     What  ?    Again  ? 

MORTON  (seriously,  with  a  shrug)  :  Have  you  been  doing  this  to 
try  me  ? 

BABE  (ivaving  her  fan)  :     You  can  make  out  of  it  what  you  like. 

MORTON  :  I  admit  that  I  was  a  coward.  I  was  willing  to  dare  all 
the  world  for  your  sake,  but  I  could  not  make  myself  ridiculous  in  the  eyes 
of  Society. 

BABE  (gravely  in  earnest)  :  I  know.  Society  is  the  most  important 
thing  in  the  world. 

MORTON  :     I  am  ashamed  to  think  how  your  clothes  should  make 

*At   this  period   there  was  many  a  quaintness  of  speech  indulged   in,   of  which  picture-skew 
for  picturesque  is  an   example. 


70 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 


such  a  difference  to  the  world,  and  how  it  should  make  none  to  me 
who  knew  you  so  well.    And  yet  it  did.     I  am  angry  at  myself.    Am 
will  confess  it    I  am  jealous!    They  all  are  ready  to  we  come  you  now 
but  I  insist  you  are  my  little  girl,  and  not  theirs      (he    cad s  her  to  /> 
group,  and  introduces  her  to  each  one,  coming  last  of  all  to  Ins  mother, 
Mrs.  Morton.) 

MORTON   (proudly)  :     Mother,  this  is  my  little  friend,  Babe  Robin 
son     The  little  girl  I  want  you  to  take  under  your  wing,  and  look  c 
for.'    She  has  had  a  hard  time  in  the  past ;  but  I  want  you  now  to  take  her 
to  your  heart,  and  be  a  mother  to  her. 

MRS  M  (puzzled.  \et  beaming  delightfully  on  the  daintily  attired 
young  creature)  :  Yes,  my  dear,  I  have  heard  of  you,  and  I  hope  I  may 
have^the  pleasure  of  having  you  come  to  us  as  soon  as  we  get 

(All  Babe  can  do  is  to  take  the  hand,  extended  to  her,  and  then  to 
kiss  the  cheek  of  the  white-haired  dame,  impulsively.) 

BABE  :     Thank  you.    You  are  very  kind. 

MRS.  M.  (still  perplexed) :  But,  Joseph,  I  thought  you  introduced 
me  to  a  Miss  Robinson,  earlier  in  the  evening.  A  different  young  lady- 
much  older? 

MORTON  (briskly,  to  change  the  subject):  Oh  yes!  another  family, 
altogether.  One  of  the  theatrical  folks ;  a  real  good  girl,  though ;  but  not 
my  Babe  Robinson,  mother. 

BAKE  (to  Morton):  So  this  is  the  way  they  talk  in  Society,  is  it? 
(to  Mrs.  Morton)  Do  you  believe  everything  your  son  tells  you,  Mrs. 
Morton  ? 

MRS.  M.  (smiling  indulgently)  :  Well,  I  have  to  use  my  own  judg 
ment — sometimes. 

BAKE  (throwing  her  head  back,  and  laughing  merrily)  :  Well.  I 
should  think  so! 

MORTON  (wishing  to  change  the  subject)  :  Have  you  been  in  the 
conservatory  yet,  Babe? 

BAKE  (tr\ing  to  be  prim)  :     No,  I  have  not. 

MORTON  :     Then  let  us  go. 

MRS.  M.  (detaining  him)  :  But,  Joseph,  the  promenade  for  the 
banquet  is  announced.  See,  they  are  all  forming  in  line. 

MORTON:  So  they  are!  Well,  we'll  take  Babe  along  with  us.  (he 
offers  an  arm  to  each.  Babe  is  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy.) 

BAKE:  No  wonder  everybody  is  trying  to  get  into  Society,  when  it 
is  all  as  fine  as  this!  My!  Isn't  it  just  like  Heaven? 

(March,  led  by  bride  and  groom,  all  follow  and  disappear.  Reception 
room  deserted.  Music  strikes  up  in  the  distance.  Then  come  in, 
higgledy  piggledy,  the  poor  people,  peering  in  at  the  door.  Then,  gradually 
entering  in  and  trying  the  different  chairs  and  sofas,  Bobby  Spangler, 
Mrs.  Spangler9  Aunt  Biddy  the  Bogie,  Mrs.  Gusset  and  children,  still 
pointing  fingers  at  everything,  and  Schlosser  and  Kcrcheval,  and  the 
Parson  who  alone  maintains  his  dignity.) 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  71 

MRS.  SPANGLER  :  My  !  and  what  a  foine  thing  to  be  rich,  sure !  (fans 
herself  with  large  szvoops  of  her  fan.) 

BIDDY:  F'wot  a  power  o'  windys  to  be  washed,  an'  all  this  carpet 
to  be  swept,  Hennery ! 

BOBBY  (to  Schlosser)  :  Little  did  we  think,  wen  we  was  goin'  to 
the  Rincon  Grammar  School,  that  we'd  be  shinin'  like  dis,  in  high  toned 
vSassiety. 

KEYMAN  :     Aw  !    Come  off  yer  perch  !    Dey  don't  keer  nuffin  fer  us ! 

KERCH EVAL:     Say,  Henry— 

(Enter  Malcolm,  with  Dr.  Kcrchcval.) 

MALCOLM  :     He  is  here,  Dr.  Kercheval.   He  is  here  with  the  Keyman  ! 

KERCH  EVAL  (giving  a  nervous  twist  to  his  high  collar,  and  turning  to 
his  comrade):  Game's  up,  Henry.  This  is  my  father! 

KEYMAN  :     Howly  Moses ! 

DR.  KERCHEVAL:  My  son!  my  son!  How  glad  your  poor  mother 
will  be ! 

KERCHEVAL  (begins)  :  I  ain't  no  fool— -to  stay  up  in  Sacramento  to — 
when  I  can  be  seem'  the  world — yes — seein'  the  world— 

KEYMAN  (scornfully)  :  Shut  up  that  racket — yer  the  doggondest 
fool  I  ever  see  in  all  my  born  days.  Go  home  with  the  old  man,  and  learn 
sumpin'.  Ye  don't  know  any  too  much. 

MALCOLM  (introducing  the  doctor  to  the  Keyman)  :  This  is  Henry 
Schlosser.  He  has  looked  out  for  your  son  for  six  months,  or  more.  As 
my  sister  is  always  saying :  "It's  the  poor  that  helps  the  poor." 

DR.  KERCHEVAL  (in  a  low  voice)  :  Permit  me  to  thank  you  for  your 
kindness,  and  I  should  like  to  take  Alfred  home  with  me  in  the  early 
train.  How  happy  his  mother  will  be.  Name  any  sum  as  a  recompense 
for  your  trouble. 

KEYMAN:     No,  ye  don't!     I  ain't  done  nothin'. 

ALFRED  (weakly)  :  Yes,  he  was  real  good  to  me,  pa.  I  was  nippin' 
the  bread  and  milk  off  the  door-steps,  when  he  found  me.  But  I  couldn't 
— I  couldn't  learn  the  key-business.  It's  too  much  for  me.  He  rented  the 
clothes  I  got  on  now,  so't  I  could  come — rhere— tonight —  (voice  dies  down 
like  a  clock) — yes — tonight — 

(Dr.  Kercheval  puts  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  draws  out  some  twenties, 
and  holds  out  to  Schlosser.) 

KEYMAN  :  Wot  d'ye  take  me  fer  ?  (scowls)  I  ain't  done  nothin'. 
We  was  f rens,  I  tell  ye ! 

DR.  KERCHEVAL:  I  owe  you  a  debt  I  can  never  repay.  By  trying  to 
teach  my  son  your  trade  you  have  benefited  him  more  than  all  the 
schooling  I  have  tried  to  give  him.  (extends  hand  with  money  in  it.) 

ALFRED  :  You'd  better  take  it,  Henry.  You  know  you  was  sayin' 
only  yesterday  you  wished  you  had  three  hundred  dollars. 

(With  a  sudden  start,  the  Keyman' s  zvhole  bearing  changes.  His 
small  eyes  light  up  into  a  preternatural  cunning.  He  extends  his  hand 
and  takes  the  money  offered  him,  almost  rudely.) 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

DR.  KERCHEVAL:  I'll  give  you  a  check  for  the  remainder.  You  can 
get  it  cashed  in  the  morning.  Can  you  get  me  a  pen,  Mr.  Strong? 
(Malcolm  gets  one  for  him.  The  check  is  written  out  and  passed  over  to 
the  Kcyman.  Key  man  seems  like  one  in  a  trance,  as  Dr.  Kercheval  hands 
over  the  check.) 

KEYMAN  (hoarsely):  All  right,  if  ye  say  so!  (aside.)  Durn  my 
hide,  if  I  hadn't  a'most  forgot  Belmour.  1  must  git  Kerch  to  buy  them 
tickets  fur  the  China  steamer  in  the  mornin'  an'  git  him  to  give  'em  to 
Mollie.  I  couldn't  have  nothin'  to  do  with  it!  I'd  give  the  game  clean 
away,  jist  by  bein'  around.  Kerch'll  have  to  give  'em  to  her  so's  the 
cops'll  catch  on  and  foller  him  on  a  blind  trail  to  Sacramento,  an'  then 
Belmour  kin  git  away.  He's  allers  been  wite  to  me.  He's  allers  treated 
me  like  a  gentleman.  But  Kerch'll  have  to  help.  An'  Kerch  don't  know 
any  too  much.  I'll  have  to  be  a  wise  gezabo.  (to  son  of  Dr.  Kercheval.) 
Kerch,  tell  the  ole  man  yer  goin'  home  with  me  ter  git  yer  clothes.  We'll 
jist  nachelly  vamose  the  ranch.  See?  Cose  I've  got  some  important 
business  on  board.  Du  ye  want  to  do  a  favor  fur  Miss  Darling?  You 
know  she  wus  pretty  nice  to  you. 

ALFRED:  Of  course!  I'd  like  to  do  her  a  favor,  an'  I'd  like  to  say 
"Good-bye"  to  her  before  I  leave  for  Sacramento — yes,  for  Sacramento-^- 

(They  converse  with  Dr.  Kercheval  and  the  Kcyman  is  in  a  state  of 
excitement  to  get  away.  Presently  they  go  toward  the  door.) 

KEYMAN  (meaningly) :  Come  on,  Kertch,  let's  make  ourselves 
scarce. 

(Malcolm  tries  to  lead  the  others  away  to  the  other  room,  as  Morton 
and  Babe  return;  but  they  all  surround  Babe,  with  protestations  of 
admiration.  The  little  lame  girl,  Krce,  takes  the  fluffy  fan  into  her  hand 
to  wave,  and  the  others  want  to  smell  the  perfume  on  it.  Finally  Malcolm 
gets  them  to  go  with  him.  He  stands  a  moment,  looking  at  the  two.) 

MALCOLM  :  So,  Babe's  forgiven  him,  already.  I  don't  think  he's 
good  enough  for  her.  (sighs  heavily.  Leads  them  all  away. 

Morton  and  Babe  seat  themselves  in  the  part  of  the  room  where  the 
conservatory  shoivs,  but  Babe  is  listening  to  the  music.) 

MORTON  :     You  are  angry  with  me.     You  know  you  are ! 

BABE  (impatiently)  :  What  do  we  want  to  stay  here  for,  quarreling? 
I  can  hear  the  music  in  the  ball-room ;  and  I  should  love  to  go  and  see 
the  dancing. 

MORTON:  How  can  I  make  my  peace  with  you?  I'll  do  anything 
you  say !  But,  you  know,  you  are  my  little  girl ! 

BABE  (with  dignity)  :  Well.  That's  no  reason  for  you  to  presume! 
You  must  promise  to  never  think  of  such  a  thing  as  ever — as  ever — 
kissing — my  cheek,  again. 

MORTON:     That's  pretty  hard!     I  know  I'll  break  it. 

BABE  (meeting  his  admiring  gaze  unfalteringly) :  Well,  Mr. 
Morton,  you  may  as  well  know  now  as  at  any  other  time,  that  I  am 
saving  my  kisses  for  my  husband ! 

MORTON  (springing  to  his  feet)  :     And  I  want  to  be  that  man ! 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBIXSON  73 


BABE  (turns  away  from  him)  :  But  you  may  not  like  me  very  much ! 
It  is  only  my  pretty  dress  that  you  like. 

MORTON  :  I  swear  that  it  is  not !  You  need  not  be  afraid  to  trust 
me.  You  are  to  come  and  live  with  my  mother,  and  go  to  school  for  a 
year  or  two,  and  then — well — then,  we'll  talk  of  love  and  the  future. 

BABE  (looking  at  him,  and  then  hanging  her  head)  :  But  you  do  not 
know  my  secret,  Joe !  You  do  not  know  anything  about  my — father — 
my  mother — and  my  step-father. 

MORTON  (generously)  :  I  know  you,  and  what  a  brave  little  girl  you 
are,  and  that's  enough  for  me.  I  can  imagine  that  your  step-father 
wasn't  very  good  to  you,  and  that  you  ran  away.  Wasn't  that  about  the 
truth  ? 

BABE  (looking  at  him,  trying  to  think  whether  to  say  any  more,  and 
dreading  to  do  so.) 

MORTON:  What  is  it,  dear?  What  is  it  that  makes  you  look  that 
way? 

BABE  (ready  to  break  dozvn)  :  There  is  more  to  tell — there  is  more. 
But  I  cannot  bear  to.  Oh !  You  will  hate  me !  (covers  her  face  with  her 
hands.) 

MORTON  (generous  again)  :  My  dear  little  girl !  You  can  set  your 
mind  at  rest,  now  and  forever,  on  that  score.  You  belong  to  me,  and  I 
propose  to  take  care  of  you,  in  spite  of  everything.  You  are  to  forget  the 
past  and  all  its  sorrows,  and  begin  all  over  again.  It  shall  be  a  new  life, 
with  mother  and  me.  Look  me  in  the  eyes,  Babe !  (draws  her  hands 
down,  laughingly.)  Don't  I  mean  what  I  say?  (Babe  smiles  and  has 
faith  in  him.) 

MORTON  :  I  shall  never  forget  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  you  in  that 
red  frock. 

BABE  :     I  looked  like  a  country  girl,  didn't  I  ? 

MORTON  :  I  kept  saying,  "It's  none  of  my  affair ;  but  what's  going 
to  become  of  her  ?"  And,  somehow,  I  felt  responsible !  You  know ! 
That  was  why  I  followed  you!  And  when  I  found  you  there,  at  Mollie 
Darling's  (bites  his  lips,  to  hold  back  what  he  would  say.)  By  the  way ! 
What  is  over  is  past !  But  I  want  you  to  promise  me,  Babe,  that  yo:i 
will  never  speak  to  Mollie  Darling,  or  to  Belmour  again.  They  are  not 
the  sort  of  people  that  I  want  my  future  wife  to  recognize,  even.  If 
you  pass  them  in  the  street,  you  must  act  as  if  you  did  not  see  them — 
as  if  you  were  not  aware  of  their  existence. 

BABE  (readily)  :  Why,  of  course !  But  then,  I  can't  tell  what  may 
happen ;  and  you  know,  Mr.  Belmour  was  very  good  to  me.  The  money 
he  gave  Miss  Wiggin  kept  me  alive  for  six  months — until  she  died.  I 
shouldn't  want  to  be  really  ungrateful,  should  I  ? 

MORTON  (petulantly)  :  Oh,  well !  Such  people  are  not  deserving  of 
much  gratitude.  I  don't  know  what  Belmour's  motive  was  in  separating 
you  from  Mollie  so  absolutely,  but  I'll  bet  anything,  there  was  a  selfish 
one,  underneath  it  all.  I  shall  not  be  satisfied  unless  you  give  me  your 
word  that  you  will  not  have  anything  to  do  with  either  of  them,  under 
pain  of  losing  all  my  affection  and  respect. 


74  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

BARE  (laughing  at  Morton's  severe  tone  and  seriousness) :  Why, 
I'll  give  you  my  word,  twice  over!  I  hope  that  they  may  never  cross 
my  path  again.  Now  that  I  know  that  they  are  queer  persons,  and  not 
nice,  I  certainly  shall  take  pains  to  avoid  them,  and  I  am  sure  that  no 
one  is  more  anxious  than  I  to  forget  that  I  ever  heard  of  them,  even. 

MORTON  (looking  into  her  eyes  that  meet  his  gaze  unfalteringly)  :  I 
am  satisfied. 

(All  the  guests  return.  The  bride  takes  her  departure,  to  hotel  to 
leave  on  China  steamer  nc.vt  day.  The  group  of  friends,  gathering  around 
Mrs.  Emmons,  plan  to  sec  them  off,  next  day,  at  the  wharf,  where  they 
are  to  take  the  steamer.  Malcolm  agrees  to  go  with  the  two  young 
fellows,  to  try  the  Whitehall  boat  and  be  there  too.  The  tivo  society  men 
shake  hands  with  Barney  and  O'Neil  in  most  friendly  fashion.) 

O'XniL  (to  Barney)  :  Yer  a  lucky  dawg,  Barney — yeVe  taken  me 
inter  Sassiety.  he !  he !  an'  thot's  wot  no  man  ivir  did  fur  me  beforre.  I 
owe  ye  tin  dollars  fur  that  an'  morre!  If  I  wasn't  a  worrkin'  man  I'd 
ruther  be  a  nigger-minstrel,  (they  go.) 

MRS.  CASTLETON  (giving  orders  to  her  three  daughters):  Marie? 
Did  you  ask  Mr.  Morton  to  call,  and  bring  his  mother  to  see  us?  And 
say  that  we  shall  call  ? 

MARIE:  I  think  it  would  be  in  better  taste 'for  you  to  do  it,  mamma. 
(Mrs.  Castleton  gives  the  invitation,  with  a  great  flourish.) 

MORTON  (aside  to  Marie)  :  And  do  you  think  society  will  receive 
my  little  protegee? 

MARIE:  Money  gilds  everything!  With  such  friends  as  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Harrington,  and  yourself  and  your  mother,  and  her  own  winsome 
personality,  it  ought  to  be  easy  for  her  to  make  her  way.  (She  says  it 
bravely,  but  is  faint  at  heart;  for  she  has  always  cared  for  Morton,  even 
before  he  got  his  money.) 

MORTON  :  And  will  you  be  her  friend,  too  ?  Babe  will  have  to  be 
sent  away  to  school,  of  course,  she  is  so  young — and  then — I  suppose  you 
can  guess  my  intentions  ?  But  with  what  success  can  I  hope  to  introduce 
my  wife,  who  was  once  a  type-setter?  Do  you  think  society  could  forgive 
it?  (Morton  takes  Marie's  hand  in  his  own,  and  holds  it,  as  he  is  speaking.) 

MARIE  (earnestly)  :  Have  her  voice  cultivated,  Mr.  Morton.  I  hear 
that  she  has  a  lovely  voice.  Have  her  learn  to  sing  ballads,  and  she  can 
go  anywhere.  Society  will  welcome  her. 

MORTON  :     Thank  you,  Miss  Castleton. 

MARIE  (aside)  :     How  happy  he  seems,  tonight. 

MRS.  CASTLETOX  (calling) :  Come,  Marie,  we  are  ready  to  go. 
Will  you  see  us  to  the  carriage,  Mr.  Morton?  (Morton  turns  to  explain 
to  Babe,  and  leaves  her  for  the  moment.  Babe  stands,  looking  after  him. 
Malcolm  is  by  Babe's  side.) 

MALCOLM  :  So  you  have  forgiven  him  for  being  ashamed  of  you  in 
your  old-fashioned  gown? 

BABE  (gravely) :  Oh !  He  couldn't  make  himself  ridiculous  in 
Society,  you  know !  Society's  the  most  important  thing  in  the  world ! 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  75 

MALCOLM  (with  feeling)  :  Yes,  I  had  forgotten  that.  Shall  you  be 
down  at  the  China  steamer,  tomorrow? 

BABE  :  Yes.  Mrs.  Emmons  is  the  lady  who  has  adopted  little 
Bunnie,  and  I  am  going  to  see  her  off,  and  say  "Good-bye."  We  shall 
miss  dear  little  Bunnie,  very  much.  But  I  am  going  to  go  away  to 
school,  and  learn  to  sing !  Won't  that  be  lovely  ? 

MALCOLM  (heartily)  :     I  congratulate  you,  Babe.    That  is  good  news. 
BABE  (eagerly)  :     But  here  comes  Mr.  Morton. 
(Morton  returns.     Malcolm  turns  to  Mrs.  Gusset,  the  Bogie,  Mrs. 
Spanglcr,  etc.,  and  helps  them  to  the  carriage,  which  is  to  take  them  home.) 
MALCOLM  (calls)  :     Come,  Babe !     There  is  a  place  for  you ! 
MORTON  :     Good-bye,  my  little  darling !     Tomorrow  I  shall  come  to 
take  you  away  forever,     (he  kisses  her  on  the  forehead,  and  draws  the 
white  shawl  around  her  closely.) 

BABE  (repeating)  :  Tomorrow  ?  Joe,  do  you  really  love  me  ?  Are 
you  sure? 

MORTON  :  I  do,  indeed,  my  little  girl.  You  are  like  a  little  pet  lamb, 
to  me. 

BABE:     Better  than  you  do  Marie  Castleton? 
MORTON  :     Better  than  any  one,  you  absurd  little  creature. 
BABE:     And  will  you  come  just  the  same  as  this  tomorrow? 
MORTONS     Just  the  same  tomorrow !  and  all  the  tomorrows  to  come. 
(Babe  buries  her  head  against  his  coat-sleeve.) 
BABE  :     It  seems  too  good  to  be  true ! 
MALCOLM  :     Come,  Babe,  we  are  waiting  for  you ! 
BABE:     I  must  go!     (gives  Morton  her  hand.    He  kisses  it  and  lets 
her  go.    She  joins  Malcolm  and  departs.    Morton's  mother  appears  in  an 
ermine  cloak.     He  gives  her  his    arm    to    escort    her    to    the    carriage. 
Miss  Harrington,  like  a  grande  dame,   stands,   saying    the  last  farewell. 
As  the  last  guest  departs,  she  turns  to  find  Murray  standing  there,  like  a 
sentinel,  carved  in  stone.) 

Miss  HARRINGTON  (haughtily)  :  Murray,  you  may  put  out  the 
lights,  and  restore  order. 

MURRAY    (obsequiously) :     Yes,   Miss    Harrington,      (and    Murray 
goes  about  quietly  and  effectively,  till  all  the  place  is  darkened.) 
Miss  HARRINGTON  :     That  will  do,  Murray. 
MURRAY:     Yes,  Miss  Harrington,     (she  departs. 
Murray  stands  a  brief  second,  in    meditation,    then    lifts    his    head, 
proudh,  and  departs  also.) 

(End  of  Act  Four.) 


ACT  V.      Scene  I. 


(Lottas  Fountain.  Golden  Rule  Bazaar.  Geary  street  and  Market 
and  Kearny  in  back-ground.  Early  a.  m.  Mollie  Darling,  heavily  veiled. 
Tivo  detectives  following  her.  Men  and  a  few  women  passing.  Schlosser 
the  Keyman,  with  a  great  roll  of  keys  hung  across  his  back,  slouches  by. 
Mollie  goes  up  the  street  and  returns.  She  has  a  letter  in  her  hand  ad 
dressed  "Robert  Bclmour."  Kercheval  appears,  jauntily  attired,  valise  in 
hand.  He  zvalks  up  to  Mollie,  lifts  his  hat  politely.  She  gives  him  the 
letter.) 

MOLLIE  :  Good  morning !  Will  you  take  the  letter  ?  Now  be  careful, 
and  be  sure  to  give  it  to  him.  (Meanzvhile,  Kercheval  gives  her  a  bunch 
of  violets  in  which  are  concealed  the  two  tickets  to  the  China  steamer.) 
Oh,  thank  you.  These  are  lovely ! 

KERCHEVAL  :     I  thought  you'd  like  them — yes,  like  them ! 

MOLLIE:  So  I  do.  And  give  my  love  to  all  the  friends  in  Sacra 
mento.  Thank  you,  so  much !  (takes  the  violets,  and  passes  on.  Key- 
man  stops  and  looks  vacantly  dozvn  Market  street.  Kercheval  passes  on 
down  Market  street  to  the  ferry.  Mollie  goes  up  the  street  past  the 
keyman,  and  murmurs,  "I've  got  them." ) 

DETECTIVE  (to  the  other  one):  Did  you  see  that,  Sam?  That 
feller's  carryin'  a  message  from  her  to  her  pal?  He  must  be  hiding  up 
in  Sacramento. 

SAM  :  Aw,  I  dunno !  Looks  like  a  slick  game,  to  me ;  but  ye'd 
better  go  along  and  git  that  letter.  (Other  detective  follows  Kercheval, 
ivho  disappears  from  the  play.*) 

MOLLIE  (waiting  by  Lottas  Fountain  a  moment)  :  So  far,  so  good. 
Now  what  next?  I  have  an  idea,  if  only  I  could  carry  it  out.  I've  got 
to  get  this  ticket  to  him.  Some  one  has  got  to  go  with  it,  and  get  him 
down  there  to  the  steamer.  Some  one  who  doesn't  know  anything !  Oh, 
Robert !  What  if  everything  should  fail !  (detective  walks  b\  her, 
leisurely.  After  he  has  passed,  she  continues  in  a  tumult  of  feeling.) 
Do  I  know  anybody  who  is  honest  and  good?  Whom  no  one  would 
suspect  ?  Would  Babe  Robinson  do  it  for  him  ?  Kercheval  told  me  she 
was  there,  at  the  wedding  last  night.  The  moment  I  heard  her  name 
I  began  to  think  of  it.  He  did  her  a  favor.  Why  should  she  not  do 
one  for  him?  And  she  is  living  at  the  Irish  woman's  house!  I  can 
but  try.  But  I  must  act  the  part  carefully  so  she  won't  find  out.  What 
if  she  did  find  out?  No,  no,  she  mustn't  find  out  the  truth,  (she  stops  to 
look  in  the  window  of  the  Golden  Rule  Bazaar — then  walks  along  leisurely. 
Detective  follows.) 

*The  fact  is  that  Kercheval  finally  became  a  useful  member  of  society.  By  his  father's 
influence  he  was  appointed  truant-officer.  He  was  especially  fitted  for  this  position  in  life  as 
having  "played  hookey"  himself  so  often,  he  knew  every  nook  and  cranny  in  Sacramento  in 
which  a  bad  boy  could  hide  to  escape  the  torments  of  an  undesired  education. 


78  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

SCENE  II. 

(Same  scene  in  Mrs.  Spongier' s  as  in  Third  Act.  Babe  is  packing  up 
her  things,  preparatory  to  going  awa\  from  the  place  forever.  She  is 
singing:  "Scenes  That  Are  Brightest  May  Charm  for  a  While"  in  snatches, 
between  bundling  up  old  books  and  clothes. 

Enter  Mrs.  Spangler.) 

MRS.  SPANGLER  (holding  up  both  hands)  :  Fur  the  love  o'  Hiven ! 
Don't  be  singing  so  airly  in  the  mornin'.  "Sing  before  breakfast,  an' 
ye'll  be  cryin'  afther  dinner." 

BABE:  Well.  I  don't  care!  I'm  glad  I  can  sing  when  I  feel  like 
it.  I've  got  a  great  surprise  for  you,  Mrs.  Spangler.  I'm  going  away 
to  school ! 

MRS.  SPANGLER:  An'  is  that  wot  yer  singin'  about?  Yer  so  glad 
to  lave  me?  Glad  to  lave  Biddy  an'  me,  is  it?  Och,  an'  I  wouldn't  av 
thought  it  av  ye,  afther  bein'  my  little  gal  all  this  time,  (head  pokes  in 
the  door.  It  is  Biddy  the  Bogie,  in  rags,  as  usual.)  Och,  Biddy,  an' 
that's  wy  she's  singin'.  She's  goin'  away  to  school,  an'  to  live  wid  the 
high-toned  leddies  and  jints. 

(Biddy  throws  her  apron  over  her  head,  and  wails  in  true  Irish 
fashion.) 

BIDDY:     Och,  me  darlint!     An'  thim  is  no  good,  at  all,  at  all. 

BABE  (indignantly)  :  I  should  think  you'd  be  glad  I'm  going  to  get 
some  education. 

MRS.  SPANGLER  :  So  we  are,  me  darlint !  but  it'll  be  a  lonely  house 
whin  ye  are  gone. 

(The  bell  rings.    Mrs.  Spangler  and  the  Bogie  go  out  to  see  who  it  is.) 

MRS.  SPANGLER  (outside  the  door)  :  Sure,  n'  she's  in,  mam.  Jist 
knock  at  the  dure !  (a  knock  at  Babe's  door.) 

BABE  (starts)  :  Who  can  it  be,  so  early  in  the  morning?  Come  in! 
(she  stands  looking  in  mute  astonishment  as  the  presence  of  Mollie 
Darling  stands  revealed.  What  had  she  promised,  only  the  night  before? 
It  was  never  to  speak  to  Mollie  or  Belmour  again.  She  draws  back. 
Mollie  comes  in  slowly.  Her  face  is  set  and  white  behind  her  flowing 
veil.  Her  eyes  are  singularly  restless.) 

BABE  (coldly)  :  Well?  (It  conveys  what  she  means:  "State  your 
business,  and  go.") 

MOLLIE  (giving  way  before  that  cold  monosyllable,  she  pushes  up  the 
veil  from  off  her  face,  and  seems  to  choke)  :  Oh,  Babe !  I  have  come  to 
you  to  help  me.  You  are  the  only  one  I  dare  ask !  I  am  in  great  trouble ! 

BABE  (hard-heartedly)  :  Oh,  you're  in  great  trouble,  are  you  ?  Then 
I'm  just  the  the  person  to  come  to,  of  course !  Whenever  this  big,  old  world 
has  troubles  of  its  own  it  can't  fix,  why.  it  always  sends  them  to  me. 
Marriages,  births,  deaths  and  funerals  seem  to  have  to  wait  for  me  to 
look  after  them.  It's  all  right.  I  haven't  any  troubles  of  my  own.  Which 
is  yours?  Marriage,  birth  or  death  ?  (Babe  folds  her  arms,  and  seats 
herself,  nonchalantly,  on  the  little  table  in  the  room,  swinging  her  feet  in 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  79 

a  pretense  at  bravado,  which  she  is  far  from  feeling.)  It  doesn't  pay  to 
have  such  an  awful  good  time  every  minute,  does  it  ?  With  fluffy  feathers 
hanging  down  your  back,  and  wearing  silks  and  satins  and  wraps,  and 
having  a  dear  little  phaeton  and  a  horse  to  drive !  You  might  have  known 
it  wouldn't  last !  I  tell  you,  it's  the  chalk  line  that  pays  best  in  the  end  ? 
That's  what  Steve  told  me,  and  it's  true,  (she  hardly  knows  what  she  is 
saying  in  her  confusion,  and  zvondering  what  to  do  next,  to  keep  her 
promise  to  Morton. 

Mollie  tears  off  the  veil  which  falls  down  over  lier  face  again,  and 
walks  up  and  down  in  desperation  like  a  wild  creature.  Babe  watches  her 
curiously.  Mollie  turns  and  looks  at  Babe  like  a  creature  at  bay.) 

MOLLIE  :  You  always  were  fond  of  preaching,  but  it's  too  late  to 
talk  of  the  "chalk  line,"  now.  I'm  in  distress.  I'm  being  hunted  to  death, 
and  you  can  save  me ! 

BABE  (assuming  surprise)  :  Whew !  It's  astonishing  what  con 
fidence  people  have  in  me!  Say,  Mollie,  what  does  all  this  play-acting 
mean?  What  are  you  so  worked  up  about? 

MOLLIE  (with  tragic  gesture  to  the  zvindow)  :  Look  out  there ! 
Wherever  I  go,  that  man  follows  me.  Generally  there  are  two.  I  am 
watched  and  hunted  every  moment. 

BABE  (gives  a  quick  look  and  turns  to  Mollie,  with  sympathetic 
whispers):  Oh,  Mollie!  Is  it  as  bad  as  that? 

MOLLIE  (with  arms  extended)  :     You  can — save — us  ! 

BABE  (starting  back,  with  repulsion  in  her  every  feature):  US? 
You  mean — Mr. — Belmour?  (slozvly.) 

MOLLIE  (mutely)  :     Yes. 

BABE  (going  back  to  the  table,  and  assuming  an  indifferent  mood 
again):  Nuh  !  Ain't  in  the  savin'  business,  this  year,  (gives  a  shrug 
of  disdain.) 

MOLLIE  :  What !  Not  when  he  saved  you,  when  you  were  alone  in 
the  world? 

BABE:     Can't  help  it! 

MOLLIE:  What!  Not  when  he  saved  you  from  worse  than  that? 
Don't  you  know  that  he  saved  you — from — from — me?  That  is  why  you 
are  honest  and  good  today !  You  can  go  anywhere !  And  you  owe  it  to 
him ! 

BABE  (meditatively)  :  I  suppose  that  is  so ;  I  never  thought  of  it 
before.  I  was  so  stupid  (is  covered  with  confusion,  hesitates,  then  begins 
again).  You  say  I  am  honest  and  good.  Well,  that  is  about  all  there  is 
of  me!  And  if  I  should  go  into  a  skittish  thing,  like  this,  I'm  afraid  there 
wouldn't  be  anything  of  me  left. 

MOLLIE  (in  a  keen  whisper)  :     It  is  life  or  death  to  him ! 

BABE  (arousing  herself)  :  And  it  is  life  or  death  to  me  too!  Why, 
Mollie  Darling,  if  that  is  your  name,  I  am  to  leave  this  poor  little  place 
and  go  into  a  real  home,  with  a  lovely  lady  to  look  after  me.  I  am  to  go 
away  to  school,  and  then  after  that,  I  am  to  go  into  Society !  Isn't  that 
life  and  death  to  me?  Why  can't  you  get  some  one  else  to  help  you  out? 


80  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROB1XSON 

MOLLIE:  We  can't  trust  them!  They  would  tell  the  police,  and 
divide  the  reward  among  them. 

BABE:  What  wretches!  (she  looks  into  Mollie's  eyes  and  begins  to 
come  under  the  influence  of  the  spell  cast  upon  her.) 

MOLLIE  (in  a  /0tc»,  persuasive  tone)  :     He  was  good    to   you    when 
you  were  in  distress.    He  helped  you  when  you  had  no  other  friend.     He 
stood  between  you— and— me !  and  changed  your  life  in  consequence, 
don't  know  why :  but  he  did.    You  are  honest  and  good,  and  you  will  save 
him  from  all  these  wretches,  who  would  give  him  up  for  the  reward. 

RABE  (taking  another  look  out  of  the  window)  :     He  is  still  there. 

MOLLIE  (bitterly)  :     Yes !    He  dogs  my  steps,  day  after  day. 

RABE  (quickly)  :     Tell  me  what  I  am  to  do !    What  have  you  planned  ? 

MOLLIE  (eagerly)  :  The  steamer  leaves  for  China  today.  I  have 
the  tickets.  I  want  you  to  carry  the  word  and  get  him  down  to  the 
docks.  He  is  very  sick.  Very  weak.  You  would  hardly  know  him ! 

RAPE  (waking  up):  Did  you  say  China  steamer?  I  know  a  lady. 
She  is  the  captain's  wife.  She  is  going  on  it  today.  She  is  taking  a  little 
baby  with  her  that  she's  adopted. 

MOLLIE  (alertly)  :     Has  she  a  nurse  for  it? 

RABE:     No!     Nobody  wanted  to  go  to  Hong  Kong. 

MOLLIE  (urgently):  Tell  me  her  name!  Give  me  her  address!  I 
will  go  as  the  nurse.  I  will  get  cap  and  aprons,  and  pass  myself  off  for  a 
French  maid.  You  know  I  can  speak  French.  It  will  be  easy.  I  see  my 
way  clear. 

RAISE  (sadly  depressed)  :     How  did  you  know  how  to  find  me? 

MOLLIE:  It  was  Kercheval  told  me.  His  father  was  at  the  wedding, 
and  gave  the  Keyman  some  money,  and  he  had  it  on  his  mind  to  tell  me 
about  your  being  there  too.  Poor  creature!  Rut  it  has  been  an  in 
spiration  to  me.  And  the  Keyman  got  Kercheval  to  buy  the  tickets,  and 
give  them  to  me.  But  I  couldn't  take  the  tickets  to  Relmour.  Neither 
could  the  keyman.  He  is  likely  to  be  arrested  any  minute.  He  is  the 
only  one  who  is  faithful  and  that  we  can  trust !  Rut  he  couldn't  take  him 
down  to  the  steamer.  It  needs  some  one  like  you.  And  here  is  the 
address. 

RABE  (sighing,  as  she  takes  it):  What  a  miserable  world!  Just 
when  everything  seems  to  be  all  right,  then  you  have  to  lose  everything. 

MOLLIE:  I  am  sorry,  Rabe,  to  be  the  one  to  trouble  you,  but  he 
helped  you — he  saved  your  life,  and  you  owe  him  something.  Remember, 
I  trust  in  you  as  I  never  did  in  a  human  being  before,  and  I  promise,  if 
we  escape,  our  lives  shall  be  different,  (ties  her  veil  on  rapidly.) 

BARE:  You  are  dreadfully  nervous,  aren't  you?  Well  (sighs),  I 
have  promised  to  help.  I  should  rather  lose  all  my  happiness  than  to  feel 
1  had  been  ungrateful.  I'll  do  my  level  best.  I  can't  promise  any  more 
than  that. 

(Mollie  goes  out  of  door.  Babe  goes  to  the  window  to  look  out. 
Sees  the  man  leisurely  following  Mollie  down  the  street,  and  some  one 
else  coming  along.  It  is  Joe  Morton.) 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBIXSON  81 

BABE  (joyfully)  :  Oh,  there's  Joe !  How  glad  I  am !  He's  looking 
up.  (she  zvavcs  her  hand.)  But  he  seems  so  strange.  He's  coming  in. 
My!.  I've  got  on  my  old  dress,  and  the  room  is  in  a  regular  upset. 

(Knock  on  the  door.  Babe  runs  and  opens  the  door.  Morton  comes 
in.) 

BABE  (joyously):  Oh!  I'm  glad  you  came!  You  see —  (starts, 
bites  her  ///>,  draws  back.)  What's  the  matter,  Joe?  Why,  you  look  so 
strange !  (seriously)  But  you  promised,  last  night  to  come  in  the 
morning,  just  the  same!  (wistfully.) 

MORTON  (gazing  on  her  with  close  scrutiny,  speaks  harshly)  :  Was 
Mollie  Darling  here? 

BABE  (nods  gravely)  :  She  was  here.  I  couldn't  keep  her  from 
coming,  could  I  ? 

MORTON  (peremptorily)  :     What — did — she — want  ? 

BABE  (wistfully)  :  It  wouldn't  be  right  for  me  to  tell  on  her,  poor 
thing,  would  it?  (she  takes  hold  of  the  table,  for  it  seems  as  if  the  world 
were  going  round.) 

MORTON  (eagerly)  :  I  insist  upon  knowing.  Why — why — last  night 
you  promised  me  never  to  have  anything  more  to  do  with  her.  And  here, 
early  in  the  morning,  I  come,  sooner  than  expected,  and  find  her  leaving 
your  door.  What  does  it  mean  ?  What  does  she  want  ?  For  Heaven's 
sake,  Babe !  Confess  the  whole  thing  to  me,  and  I  will  believe  you,  even 
now !  Let  me  take  you  away  from  this  den  of  thieves,  and  put  an  end  to 
these  dreadful  suspicions !  But  I  insist,  first  that  you  shall  tell  me  what 
she  wants  of  you. 

BABE  (weakly)  :  Dear  Joe !  I  don't  know  what  to  do !  (clasps  her 
hands  together.) 

MORTON  (drawing  out  his  watch)  :  Babe !  I  have  only  five  minutes 
to  spare.  I  will  give  you  that  five  minutes.  If  during  this  time  you 
refuse  to  explain  this  thing  to  me —  (voice  breaks.  Turns  away  over 
come.) 

BABE  (springing  to  his  side,  she  puts  her  head  against  his  arm.  and 
he  clasps  her  hand  in  his)  :  Oh,  Joe!  has  it  come  to  this,  so  soon?  Can't 
you  trust  me  the  least  little  bit  ?  You  know  you  have  been  a  reporter,  and 
you  are  very  hard-hearted.  It  isn't  my  secret.  I  can't  tell  you,  because 
it  would  be  wicked  and  mean,  and  you  wouldn't  have  me  be  wicked  and 
mean,  would  you? 

MORTON  (hoarsely):  You  owe  that  woman  nothing — nothing!  And 
I  have  forbidden  you  to  speak  to  her.  That  should  be  enough  for  you. 
Oh,  Babe !  Don't  you  see  how  this  will  ruin  our  lives  ? 

BABE  (feeling  herself  tempted  to  tell)  :  All  right —  it's  nothing  to 
me.  No,  no!  I  can't  tell.  I  won't  tell.  1  don't  care  what  happens  to  me. 

MORTON  (rela.ving  his  hold)  :  Very  well !  I  might  have  known  !  But 
your  fresh  young  face  and  your  innocent  eyes  have  deceived  me,  for  I 
believed  you  to  be  honest  and  good,  in  spite  of  all  the  mysteries  that  have 
surrounded  you  from  the  beginning.  You  have  tried  me  once  too  often. 
We  may  as  well  say  "Good-bye."  (turns  toward  the  door.) 


82  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

BAHE  (running  to  intercept  him,  and  putting  her  hand  out  to  detain 
him)  :  Oh,  no!  don't  go  away  angry  with  me?  Why,  Mr.  Morton.  I'll 
tell  you  everything!  It's  nothing  to  me! 

MORTON  (turning  to  her  fiercely):  Now  then!  What  is  it?  What 
did  she  want  ? 

BAHE  (clutching  at  the  door,  to  hold  herself  up)  :  Oh!  I  can't!  I 
won't ! 

MORTON  (jealously)  :  It  must  be  something  very  strange.  I  believe 
it  is  Belmour,  who  sent  her.  The  hound !  I  could  kill  him  with  my  own 
hands ! 

BABE  (gently):  Hush!  What  would  you  want  to  kill  anyone  for? 
Killing  is  a — horrible — thing — and — it — is — always — the — innocent — who 
—have — to — suffer — for — the — guilty. 

MORTON  (looking  at  her  in  amazement)  :  What  a  strange  child  you 
are!  Do  you  know  you  could  deceive  the  devil  himself  with  those 
innocent  eyes  and  ways  of  yours.  Once  more :  Will  you  tell  me  what  she 
came  for?  Was  it  not  something  about  Belmour? 

(Babe  looks  at  him  mutely.) 

MORTON  :  I  can  read  it  in  your  eyes.  Bah !  I  am  a  fool.  Let  me 
get  out  of  here,  into  the  fresh  air!  (he  goes  out  like  one  bereft  of  his 
senses.) 

BABE  (following  him)  :  Tomorrow — tomorrow — I'll  tell  you.  To 
morrow,  Mr.  Morton,  (he  is  gone.  She  puts  her  hand  to  her  head.) 
What's  that?  My  head  is  going  round.  I've  got  too  much  to  do.  (puts 
her  hand  into  the  water-pitcher  and  splashes  a  handful  into  her  face.) 
Oh,  dear!  I  can't  think  of  my  own  troubles,  today.  I'll  put  them  off 
till  tomorrow.  He  is  there,  weak  and  sick!  And  he  saved  me!  (puts 
on  her  little  cape  and  sailor-hat,  takes  up  the  address  and  ticket  and  goes 
out  wistfully.) 

(End  of  Second  Scene.) 

SCENE  III. 

(Alley  in  Tehama  street,  near  Fourth.  A  door  is  cut  in  fence  leading 
to  back  room  in  a  tumble-down  house.  Room  is  forlorn.  A  couch,  zvoodcn 
chair  and  table,  ragged  curtain  at  window.  Sounds  of  children's  voices 
fighting  and  screaming  in  the  allev.  Belmour,  lying  on  couch,  pale,  beard 
grown;  is  frayed  with  the  stress  of  existence.  Is  playing  solitaire.  Puts 
the  cards  down,  absently.) 

BELMOUR:  And  yet,  I  go  on  thinking!  Life  is  a  game  that  is  not 
worth  the  candle.  All  my  years  I  have  been  seeking  an  ignis  fatuus  and 
now,  at  last  memory  has  its  revenge.  I  hear  children's  voices  wrangling 
and  jangling,  and  my  mind  insists  on  going  back  to  when  I  was  myself 
a  child.  I  can't  get  away  from  it !  Headstrong,  self-willed,  petted  and 
spoiled  by  an  indulgent  mother.  How  exquisite  she  was,  in  every  way! 
I  can  see  her,  and  my  little  sister  Ida,  as  plainly  as  if  they  stood  before 
me,  on  the  day  I  returned  home  from  college,  as  they  stood  there  on  the 
long  verandah!  If  only  I  could  forget  that  picture!  In  spite  of  all  my 
wild  career,  I  see  them  still,  standing  there !  Everything  else  is  blotted 


SOCIETY    AXD    BABE    ROBINSON  83 

out  but  that  picture !  Had  I  stayed  there  with  them,  should  I  now  be 
different  from  what  I  am  ?  A  Southern  gentleman  of  family  and  stand 
ing-,  instead  of — this?  (he  glances  around  the  room.)  Lying  in  durance 
vile,  a  fugitive  from  justice  with  a  price  upon  my  head,  with  my  sole 
companion,  a  poor,  uncouth  hoodlum,  to  whom  I  owe  my  very  life? 
(takes  up  the  pack  of  cards,  and  begins  to  play  solitaire  again.  Screams 
of  children  in  the  alley,  some  playing  ball,  some  drumming.  Bitterly 
lets  the  cards  drop  from  his  hands.) 

BELMOUR  :  I  can  see  them  there — all  in  white,  like  angels,  in  a 
dream.  But  I  did  not  realize  then,  how  great  was  to  be  my  fall !  (takes 
up  the  cards  again. 

Suddenly  there  comes  a  quick  knock  at  the  door,  and  a  quick  tattoo, 
not  quite  according  to  the  signal.  He  drops  the  cards,  and  quickly  snatches 
his  revolver  from  under  the  pillow  of  his  couch,  and  looks  in  the  direction 
of  the  door,  with  a  white,  set  face.  His  mind  is  made  up  that  he  will  die 
rather  than  be  taken  alive.) 

VOICE  (from  without)  :     It  is  a  friend.     I  bring  good  news. 

BELMOUR  (hoarsely)  :     Who  is  there 

VOICE  :     Some  one  from  Mollie. 

(Belmour  is  staggered  by  this  reply.  He  puts  down  his  pistol  and 
draws  on  a  great  coat  with  fur  collar,  closely  about  him.  Feebly,  he  makes 
his  wa\  to  the  door,  draws  back  the  bolt,  and  Babe  Robinson  enters.) 

BELMOUR  :  Wait  a  moment.  I  shall  have  to  lie  down  again,  (he 
looks  at  her  with  a  grim  expression,  keeping  his  hand  on  his  pistol  in  the 
pocket  of  his  coat.) 

BABE  (trying  to  do  her  best)  :  I'm  awfully  sorry,  Mr.  Belmour,  to 
see  you  in  such  a  plight ;  but  I  bring  you  good  news  from  Mollie.  Here  is 
the  ticket  for  the  China  steamer,  and  I  have  promised  to  get  you  down 
there  safely. 

BELMOUR  (warily):     When  did  you  see  Mollie? 

BABE  (innocently)  :  Just  a  little  while  ago,  about  twenty  minutes. 
Of  course,  I  didn't  like  to  do  it  at  first,  but  she  reminded  me  of  how  you 
made  me  go  with  Miss  Wiggins — that — night!  And  what  do  you  think? 
Just  outside,  I  was  met  by  a  policeman — and  it  was  nobody  but  Bobby 
Spangler.  I  knew  him  before  he  was  on  the  force,  so  I  told  him  I  was 
coming  to  see  a  sick  friend,  and  it'll  be  all  right !  He'll  do  anything  for 
me!  (another  knock,  with  the  proper  tattoo,  is  heard.) 

BABE:  Shall  I  open  the  door?  (Belmour  nods.  She  opens  the  door, 
and  admits  the  Keyman.) 

KEYMAN  (scowling)  :  Wot's  she  doin'  here  ?  Wimmen  always 
spoil  everything,  an'  how'd  she  git  here? 

BELMOUR:  Mollie  sent  her  with  the  ticket  to  the  China  steamer, 
and  we  are  to  listen,  and  not  talk. 

KEYMAX  (to  Babe)  :  I  don't  think  much  o'  ye  wimmin.  My 
mawther  trowed  me  out,  wen  I  was  a  kid,  'cause  I  was  so  ugly,  an'  I've 
hated  ye  all  ever  sense,  but  I  guess  you're  pretty  wite  to  be  hclpin'  uv 
Mr.  Belmour.  You  know  I'm  his  pal. 


84  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

RAIIE  (with  sudden  misgiving)  :  I  don't  know  what  is  it  you  have 
done,  Mr.  Belmour,  to  get  into  such  trouble  as  this,  indeed,  I  did  not  stop 
to  think  and  ask.  because  I  hope  it  isn't  anything  awfully  bad,  is  it? 
Because  I  wouldn't  like  to  think  I  had  had  a  hand  in  it.  It  wouldn't  be 
fair  to  me. 

BELMOUR  (in  suppressed  tone)  :     Just  a  scrape. 

KEY  MAN  (gloatingly)  :  Yes,  and  a  mighty  big  one  too.  None  of 
yer  little,  mean,  petty  larceny  cases  fur  him.  He's  too  proud ! 

BKLMOUR  (sitting  up)  :  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I'm  not  fit  to  have 
you  come  to  help  me."  It  would  be  better  for  you  to  go  away  again,  (he 
sa\s  this  with  a  new  expression  coming  into  his  face,  half  smile,  half 
commiseration.) 

BABE  (doubtfully)  :  Oh,  no !  you  were  good  to  me  once,  and  I  am 
sure  it  is  only  right  that  I  should  help  you,  when  you  are  in  trouble.  But 
I  hope  it  is  not  so  very  bad.  whatever  you  have  done,  to  have  the 
detectives  hunting  you  so!  Because,  of  course,  it  would  be  awful,  if 
what  Schlosser  says  is  true.  (looks  vaguely  from  one  to  the  other.) 

KEYMAN  (grinning  gruesomely)  :  Of  course  it's  true!  Wot  d'ye 
take  me  fur?  D'ye  think  I'd  be  yere  if  it  was  a  ordinary  case?  No! 
There's  five  thousand  dollars  reward  offered  fur  him! 

(Belmour  rises,  staggers  to  the  chair  from  the  couch,  resolved  to  tell 
her,  himself.) 

BELMOUR:  It  is  true  that  I  am  charged  with  stage-robbery,  (his 
voice  fails  him.  ll'onder,  terror,  nameless  dread  hold  Babe  speechless  as 
she  looks  from  the  one  face,  full  of  diabolical  glee,  to  the  other,  so  white, 
so  worked  upon  by  inward  emotion.  Belmour  continues,  brokenly.)  It 
was  a  mistake.  I  didn't  mean  it.  My  pistol  went  off.  He  fell.  But  I 
did  not  mean  it,  before  God,  I  did  not! 

(A  sudden,  sharp  scream  bursts  from  Babe's  lips,  as  the  truth  flashes 
over  her.) 

BAHE:  Oh!  (then  in  forced  tones.)  It  was  you!  It  was  you,  who 
killed  my  Steve!  I  know  it!  I  feel  it!  God  has  brought  me  here  to 
avenge  his  death!  I  am  to  be  the  one  to  bring  you  to  justice!  Now  I 
shall  see  you  dragged  to  the  scaffold.  Thank  God  for  that,  (she  wrings 
her  hands  in  excitement. 

The  Keyman  is  approaching,  covertly,  as  if  to  seize  and  hold  her. 
Belmour  shakes  his  head.) 

BELMOUR  :     Let  her  alone.     Let  her  have  her  say. 

BAHE  (considers)  :  Xo,  death  is  too  good  for  you.  You  ought  to 
be  tortured.  I  hope  the  rope  will  break,  and  that  the  sheriff  will  have  to 
do  it  over  again,  and  that  you  will  be  a  long  time  dying.  Oh,  Steve !  my 
good,  kind  friend,  you  are  to  be  avenged,  at  last !  I  will  go  out,  and  call 
the  policeman  outside,  and  have  you  punished  for  your  wicked  murder  of 
my  poor  Steve ! 

(Belmour  arises  from  his  chair.  He  looks  very  tall  and  thin  in  the 
long,  fur-lined  coat.  He  is  deadly  white,  save  for  those  red  spots  blazing 
in  his  cheeks.  The  Keyman  stands  to  guard  the  way  to  the  door.) 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  85 

BELMOUR  :     Very  well !  And  you  will  get  the  reward. 

BABE  (starting  as  if  she  had  been  struck  in  the  face)  :  The  reward! 
As  if  I  would  soil  my  fingers  with  it !  No !  No  one  shall  have  any 
reward.  It  is  merely  the  justice  of  it  that  I  want ! 

(Bclmoitr  sinks  down  again  into  the  chair.  He  gazes  at  her  fixedly. 
She  walks  up  and  down,  clasping  her  hands  together,  the  Key-man  watch 
ing  her  every  move.  At  last  she  comes  to  a  stop  once  more  in  front  of 
B elm  our.) 

BABE  (in  a  low  suppressed  tone)  :  It  would  be  better  if  I  killed 
you,  myself. 

(Behnour  extends  his  pistol  to  her  coolly.) 

BELMOUR:  Take  it  and  satisfy  your  wish.  It  will  save  me  the  trouble, 
for  I  won't  be  taken  alive. 

(Slowly  she  takes  the  weapon  from  him,  looks  at  it  strangely,  and 
then  at  him,  fixedly.  Keyman  tries  to  get  behind  the  closet  door.) 

BABE  :  Where — did — you — get — this  ?  Where — did — you — get — 
this  ? 

(Behnour  waves  Iiis  hand  toward  the  Keyman,  vaguely. 

Babe  turns  to  the  Keyman,  holding  the  iveapon  out  toward  him,  wait 
ing  for  a  reply,  while  he  shrinks,  trying  to  get  out  of  range.) 

BABE  :     Tell  me  the  truth ;  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you. 
KEYMAN  (unwillingly)  :     I  found  it. 
BABE  :     Where  ? 

KEYMAN  :  Up-stairs.  It  come  out  of  a  bundle  of  Joe  Morton's  an' 
I  took  it — fur  'im  ! 

BABE  :  Yes.  Yes.  It's  -Steve's  pistol,  that  he  gave  me,  and  I  gave 
it  to  Mr.  Morton,  to  keep  for  me.  (her  voice  gets  faint.)  It's  Steve's,  that 
he  put  in  my  hand  when  he  said  good-bye.  Oh!  Oh!  What  shall  I  do? 

(She  w'avers,  and  to  keep  from  falling,  sits  down  on  the  floor,  from 
weakness,  and  weeps  violently.) 

BABE  :  Oh,  Steve !  My  dear  old  Steve !  I  have  seen  him,  and  I 
know  him  ;  but  I  can  do  nothing !  I  know  this  is  a  sign  to  me.  You 
wouldn't  want  me  to  do  anything  like  that.  You  always  wanted  me  to 
be  good,  and  I  know  it  would  be  wrong  to  kill  him.  He  will  have  to  be 
let  live — live. 

(The  pistol  slips  from  her  hand  and  slowly  keeps  on  sliding  till  it  is 
on  the  rough  boards  of  the  floor.  This  the  Keyman  sees,  and  fixes  his 
gaze  upon  it.  She  is  weeping  again,  and  drawing  her  little  print  dress 
to  her  eyes  for  something  to  dry  her  tears  upon.) 

BABE:  And  I've  lost  my  other  friend,  too,  just  by  coming  here  to 
help  you  out.  Joe  Morton  says  he'll  never  speak  to  me  again,  because  I 
wouldn't  tell  him  what  Mollie  wanted  of  me.  I  can't  bear  it ! 

(The  Keyman  is  slowly  crawling  along  on  the  floor,  toward  the 
revolver,  to  get  it.  But  suddenly  she  seems  electrified  by  a  new  thought. 
She  pulls  the  hem  of  her  skirt  from  her  eyes  roughly,  and  stands  up  with 
a  new  strength  and  resolution.  The  Keyman  shrinks  back  again.) 


86  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

BABE  (apologetically,  to  Belmour)  :  I  forgot !  It  is  true !  You  were 
good  to  me,  Mr.  Belmour!  You  did  save  me  from  Mollie.  She  told  me 
so  this  morning.  What  would  have  become  of  me,  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
you?  You  did  try  to  atone  for  Steve's  death.  I  won't  try  to  forgive  you ; 
but  I  will  help  you  to  get  away. 

(Takes  notice  of  Keyman  trying  to  reach  the  revolver.  She  pushes 
it  toward  him  with  her  foot,  scornfully.  He  takes  it  sheepishly.  Slips  it 
into  his  pocket.) 

BABE:  Take  it.  I  don't  want  it.  (she  turns  to  the  gambler  once 
more.)  There  is  one  thing,  though,  that  you  will  have  to  do. 

BELMOUR  (with  an  eloquent  gesture.  He  has  eloquent  hands)  :  Do 
with  me  as  you  will. 

BABE:  If  you  will  marry  poor  Mollie,  before  you  go,  f  will  help  you 
down  to  the  China  steamer. 

BELMOUR:  I  am  willing;  but  it  is  impossible.  We  cannot  run  any 
risk. 

BABE  :  If  you  will  promise,  I  will  make  it  perfectly  safe.  You  owe  it 
to  her !  Whatever  she  is,  she  is  faithful  to  you.  (eagerly)  I  know  a  good 
old  parson,  who  will  do  anything  for  me.  I  can  get  him  here  in  a  few 
minutes,  and  her  too. 

BELMOUR  (briefly)  :     Go  ahead. 

(Babe  goes  to  the  door,  and  out,  zvithout  another  word.  After  she  is 
gone,  Belmour  turns  to  the  waiting  Keyman  and  fixes  his  gaze  upon  him.) 

BELMOUR  :  You've  been  a  good  friend  to  me.  You've  kept  me  alive 
here.  You've  done  everything.  You  did  not  give  me  up  for  the  reward. 

KEYMAN  (roughly):  Cheese  it!  Wot  d'ye  take  me  fur?  Ain't  ye 
my  pal?  Ain't  we  frens? 

BELMOUR  :  I'm  going  to  ask  a  great  favor  of  you,  Henry !  What 
ever  happens,  today,  whether  I  get  away,  or  whether  I  am  nabbed,  I  want 
you  to  go  to  Joe  Morton,  and  give  him  back  that  six-shooter,  and  tell  him 
what  happened  here  today.  \Ve  don't  want  her  to  lose  any  more  of  her 
friends  on  account  of  us. 

KEYMAN  :  Don't  you  be  afeard  of  me.  I  ain't  goin'  back  on  her. 
She's  wite,  she  is ! 

BELMOUR  (falling  back  with  exhaustion)  :  Help  me  to  dress,  and 
then  let  me  be  quiet  for  a  little  while. 

(Keyman  gets  out  clothes,  and  curtain  falls  for  one  minute. 

Curtain  rises.  Same  scene.  Belmour  lying  on  couch,  dressed,  with 
over-coat  off.  Keyman  tidying  up  the  room.  Tattoo  and  signal  at  the 
door.  Enter  Babe  with  the  Parson  and  a  French  nurse,  arrayed  in  dark 
straight  skirt,  long  white  apron,  freshly  starched  linen  cap,  frilled  about 
her  head,  black  hair,  parted  and  drawn  down  over  her  ears,  and  a  baby 
heavily  zvrappcd,  in  her  arms.  It  is  asleep,  and  remains  asleep.) 

BELMOUR  (arouses  himself,  as  the  French  maid  comes  to  his  side)  : 
Is  this — Mollie? 

MOLLIE  (replying  in  French):  All  is  well.  We  shall  get  away. 
Only  hurry. 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  87 

BABE:  Come,  Parson  Hager !  I  want  you  to  marry  these  two 
people. 

(The  two  stand  up.     Parson  Hagcr  begins  a  brief  service.     At  the 
sound  of  his  voice  Mollie  shrinks  away.) 
BELMOUR  :     What  is  it  ?    Are  you  ill  ? 

MOLLIE:  Oh,  I  am  afraid!  You  remember  Gertrude?  This  is  her 
father. 

BELMOUR  (breathing  heavily)  :     My  God!    What  next? 

BABE:  We  have  no  time  to  lose.  What  is  the  matter?  Why  don't 
you  go  on,  Parson  ? 

(Parson  Hager  pulls  at  his  old-fashioned  cravat  as  if  choking  with 
emotion.) 

BABE  (to  Mollie)  :  You're  not  his  daughter,  not  the  daughter  he  has 
been  hunting  everywhere  for  the  last  ten  years?  Don't  tell  me  that.  I 
couldn't  stand  it ! 

MOLLIE  (still  shrinking  away)  :  No.  I  am  not ;  but  I  know  where 
she  is,  if  you  want  me  to  tell  you. 

PARSON  (mournfully)  :  Yes,  it  is  time  to  make  restitution  for  the 
past.  But,  can  you  restore  her  to  me  as  she  was  then,  when  you  played 
upon  her  mind  with  your  temptations  and  your  arts  ?  Can  you  give  her 
back  to  me,  young  and  innocent,  again?  (he  groans,  and  covers  his  eves 
with  his  hand.) 

MOLLIE  (moodily)  :  She  always  was  strong-willed.  She  has  escaped 
what  you  most  fear.  You  will  find  her  at  the  hospital  in  Clay  street.  She 
has  been  a  night-nurse  for  years. 

BABE  (fairly  wild  at  these  words)  :  Sister  Gertrude?  And  she  was 
the  one  who  came  with  Miss  Wiggins  to  save  me,  that  night,  and  Mr. 
Belmour  made  me  go.  Yes,  yes !  What  a  strange  world  it  is !  ( turning 
to  the  parson,  while  the  Keyman  looks  on  in  the  background.)  Let  us  be 
thankful,  Parson  Hager.  Go  on,  and  marry  these  two.  They  have  got 
to  go  on  the  China  steamer  as  soon  as  possible,  and  then  I  will  take  you 
to  see  your  daughter.  She  will  be  down  there  to  see  the  poor  little  baby 
off !  Be  glad ;  for  she  is  one  of  the  noblest  women  in  San  Francisco. 

(Parson  holds  out  his  hands.  What  follows  is  in  pantomime.  Then 
he  and  Babe,  and  Mollie  with  the  baby  in  her  arms  go  forth,  quietly.  The 
Keyman,  full  of  concern,  shakes  hands  with  Belmour  and  slouches  forth, 
his  kevs  on  his  back,  as  usual.  Babe  returns  with  Policeman  Spongier, 
who  helps  to  get  Belmour  to  the  door,  and  to  the  carriage.  Carriage 
w'heels  are  heard.) 

(End  of  Scene.     Curtain  Falls.) 

LAST  SCENE 

(Dock.  End  of  Third  street.  Big  ship.  Rough  surroundings.  Gang 
plank,  with  passengers  going  up.  Tearful  farewells.  Young  Irishman 
goes  up  and  sits  near  the  rail,  and  weeps  copiously,  his  friends  being  on 
the  dock.  The  dock-men  begin  to  guy  him,  giving  cat-calls,  and  making 
his  grief  ridiculous.  His  handkerchief  becomes  so  saturated  with  tears 


88  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

lie  wrings  it  out.  Dockman  holding  up  a  quarter  of  a  dollar  as  one 
would  bribe  a  child,  "Here's  two  bits  fur  ye.  if  ye' II  stop  yer  cryin'." 

Young  Irishman,  changing  from  grief  to  anger,  stands  up  and  cries, 
"Shure,  it's  Dennis  O'Rourke  can  whip  the  whole  o  \cz.  Come  on  wid 
yes." 

Sister,  on  the  dock,  implores  him  to  go  inside.  Returning  to  his 
violent  weeping  again,  he  obeys  and  goes  within  the  cabin. 

Arrives  a  group.  Miss  Harrington,  Kate,  now  Mrs.  Harrington,  Mr. 
Harrington,  the  Castletons,  and  their  escorts,  and  Malcolm.  Malcolm 
scivs  a  good-bve  to  his  sister,  and  he  and  the  young  men  come  down  the 
gang-plank  to  get  into  their  Whitehall  boat,  to  follow  the  steamer.  They 
refer  to  their  boat  as  they  go.  E.vit  Malcolm  and  the  young  men,  escorts 
of  the  young  ladies. 

Arrives  another  group,  Captain  Emmons,  wife  and  French  maid  with 
child  in  arms.  Nurse  is  talking  French  to  the  baby;  as  she  comes  up  the 
gang-plank  two  detectives  admire  the  trim  figure  of  the  French  maid. 
^Detective  has  a  telegram  from  his  fellow1  who  went  to  Sacramento.  Says 
he  got  the  letter  from  that  swell  guy;  but  it  zvas  only  a  blank  sheet  inside. 
They've  lost  our  trail.  She's  give  us  the  slip,  somehow!  But  we've  got  a 
pointer  on  that  Kc\man!  The\  say  he  knows  something.  We're  going  to 
watch  him  now.  See,  there  he  is!  Keyman  slouches  into  sight.  Stands  near 
a  post  on  the  dock,  burdened  down  with  keys  on  his  back,  and  in  bag,  held 
in  his  hand.  Gazes  at  everything  indifferently,  as  if  he  took  no  interest 
in  anything.  Parson  arrives,  looks  around  anxiously.  Joe  Morton  ar 
rives,  with  his  mother,  who  says  good-bye  to  Mrs.  Emmons.  The  Castle- 
tons  are  there,  all  gaiety  and  merriment,  and  Miss  Harrington.  Sister 
Gertrude  is  in  the  background.  Emperor  Xorton,  in  full  uniform,  passes 
by,  bowing  to  all.  Gives  a  rose  from  his  button-hole  to  a  little  girl,  who 
takes  it,  much  honored. 

Mrs.  Spangler  and  her  sister,  Biddy  the  Bogie,  appear,  to  wave  a 
good-bye  to  the  baby,  in  the  arms  of  the  French  maid.  They  join  Sister 
Gertrude,  presently.  Then  a  man  and  a  girl,  alighting  from  a  carriage,  are 
made  way  for  by  an  important  policeman.  Bobby  Spangler  cannot  resist 
showing  off.) 

BOBBY  SPANGLER  (policeman)  :  This  way,  sor.  Hope  ye'll  have  a 
pleasant  journey! 

(As  they  reach  the  gang-plank,  Babe,  in  her  rust\  little  cape  and  felt 
hat,  that  makes  a  halo  effect  around  her  young  face,  feels  her  courage  fail 
her  at  sight  of  those  on  board  whom  she  knows,  saying  good-bye  to  the 
baby,  but  whom  she  doesn't  wish  to  meet.} 

BABE  :  I  won't  go  any  farther,  (making  an  effort  at  acting.)  Good 
bye!  Give  my  love  to  your  wife,  Mr.  Morgan. 

HKLMOUR  (who  seems  like  some  traveler,  seeking  his  health,  in  a  sea- 
voyage,  with  shawl  on  his  shoulders,  no  longer  alert,  cane  in  hand)  : 
Good-bye,  little  angel  of  God !  (but  he  does  not  extend  his  hand,  nor  does 
she  hers.) 

BABE  (simply) :     You  saved  me,  and  I  have  tried  to  save  you. 


SOCIETY    AXD    BABE    ROBIXSON  89 

BELMOUR:     You  were,  to  me,  like  my  little  sister. 

BABE:  If  Steve  could  have  chosen,  he  would  have  had  it  this  way. 
He  would  have  given  his  life  for  me,  I  know  ! 

(Bclmour  goes  on  his  way,  slowly  up  the  gang-plank.  Babe  steps  to 
one  side.  A  man  in  the  crow'd  speaks.) 

MAN  (pityingly)  :  I  guess  that's  about  the  last  journey  that  poor 
fellow  will  ever  take.  He's  in  the  last  stages  of  consumption. 

BABE  (despairingly)  :  Now  what  shall  I  do  ?  Everybody's  gone, 
even  the  baby!  I  have  no  friends  left!  I'll  go  off  alone,  by  myself  some 
where,  and  watch  the  ship  going  out  the  Golden  Gate.  And  after  that— 
what?  (goes  out  of  sight,  up  to  farther  end  of  dock. 

Morton  leaves  his  mother  with  Miss  Harrington,  etc.  Walks  sloivly 
down  the  gang-plank.  Seeks  Parson  Hager  and  'stands  ne.vt  to  him,  as  if 
b\  accident.  They  salute  each  other.) 

MORTON  :  Parson,  did  you  know  a  woman  by  the  name  of  Mollie 
Darling?  (looks  into  his  face  intently.) 

PARSON  (zvearily)  :  It  sounds  more  like  the  name  of  a  song,  than 
of  a  woman. 

MORTON  :  You  are  right ;  but  I  knew  a  woman  who  took  the  name 
of  the  song  for  her  own,  and  I  have  a  grudge  against  that  woman !  I  feel 
as  if  I  could  tear  the  cap  from  her  head  and  the  wig,  and  make  known 
to  all  here  who  it  is  that  has  just  crossed  the  plank  and  boarded  the 
China  steamer  in  disguise. 

PARSON  (in  bewilderment)  :  Why,  my  dear  sir!  What  has  she  done 
to  you  ?  I  thought  she  was  her  own  worst  enemy  ! 

MORTON  (brokenly)  :     She  has  pursued  an  innocent  child.     She  has 
destroyed  all  my  faith  and  trust  in  one  I  cherished,  with  all  my — heart. 
PARSON  (tremulously)  :     Of  whom  do  you  speak? 

MORTON  :  Babe !  The  child  you  knew  up  country.  Little  Miss 
Robinson ! 

PARSON  (with  a  joyful  smile)  :  You  are  mistaken !  You  are  de 
ceived  !  I  would  to  .God,  He  had  given  me  such  a  daughter  as  Babe 
Robinson ! 

MORTON  :  I  should  like  to  believe  you.  I  must  have  the  whole  truth, 
for  I  can  endure  no  more  !  What  was  the  matter,  up  in  the  country  ?  Why 
did  she  leave  her  home,  and  make  such  a  mystery  of  it  ? 

PARSON:  Her  mother  married  the  wrong  man,  my  dear  sir!  The 
children  threw  it  up  to  her.  , 

MORTON  :     Wrong  man  ?    What  do  you  mean  ? 

PARSON  :  It  was  a  terrible  tragedy !  The  mother  should  not  have 
married  him !  He  had  killed  Mr.  Robinson,  by  accident,  they  said.  He 
was  sorry  for  it,  and  married  the  widow,  to  provide  for  her  and  the 
child ;  but  it  was  wrong !  And  poor  little  Babe  had  to  do  the  suffering ! 
The  children  threw  it  up  to  her,  and  Steve  decided  it  was  best  for  her 
to  go  where  no  one  knew  her!  And  as  you  know,  Steve  was  killed,  so 
she  had  not  a  friend  left  in  the  world ! 


90  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

MORTON  (dazed)  :     And  so  that's  all  there  is  of  the  mystery  ? 
PARSON  :     All !    That's  all ! 

MORTON  :  But  there  is  more  to  explain.  I  saw  her,  with  my  own 
eyes,  in  Mollic  Darling's  parlor,  the  first  night  she  arrived  from  the 
country.  Last  night  she  gave  me  her  promise  that  she  would  never  again 
speak  to  Mollie  nor  her  partner  again ;  and  this  morning,  I  found  that 
the  woman  had  been  to  see  her;  and  Babe  admitted  to  me  that  they  had 
a  secret  together.  What  am  I  to  believe?  That  she  is  innocent,  still? 

PARSON  (solemnly)  :  For  years,  I  have  sought  to  find  my  long 
lost  daughter.  This  morning,  Babe  came  to  me  to  have  me  perform  the 
marriage  service  for  a  couple  who  had  never  been  married,  though  they 
had  lived  together  for  years,  as  man  and  wife.  And,  through  that,  I  have 
news  of  my  daughter.  Can  you  understand  what  all  this  means  to  me? 
As  for  the  couple ;  they  have  crossed  that  plank  to  go  away  to  a  foreign 
land,  to  begin  their  lives  over  again,  and  you  call  the  wife's  name —  (enter 
detective.) 

DETECTIVE  :  Hello,  Morton !  Glad  to  hear  of  your  good  fortune. 
(shakes  hands.)  As  you  are  not  a  reporter,  any  more,  I'm  going  to  tell 
you  about  that  man  we've  been  after  so  long.  We've  been  on  the  trail 
of  Mollie  Darling  for  the  past  three  months.  She  gave  us  the  slip  this 
morning,  somehow ;  but  we'll  pick  up  the  trail  again  pretty  soon.  From 
this  news,  you  can  guess  who  it  is  Wells  Fargo  are  after.  Five  thousand 
reward  for  me  and  my  mate,  to  divide  between  us.  I  know  you'll  keep 
it  safe  till  \ve  get  our  bracelets  on  him. 

MORTON  (hoarsely):  Not  Belmour,  the  gambler?  \Vas  he  the  one 
who  killed  the  stage-driver? 

DETECTIVE  :     Yep,  and  he'll  swing  for  it  too.    (exit.) 
MORTON:     Parson,  did  you  know  this? 
PARSON  :     No,  I  did  not. 

MORTON  :  Let  them  escape,  and  good  riddance  to  them !  Hush ! 
Not  a  word ! 

(Vessel  swings  out,  into  the  stream.  Tug-boat  whistles.  (Motion 
picture  of  departing  ship.  Key  man  slouches  in  close  to  the  two  men, 
looking  apprehensively  after  the  detectives.) 

KEVMAN  (in  hoarse  whisper)  :  Say.  You,  Joe  Morton !  I  want 
ter  speak  to  ye  a  minnit !  (Morton  turns  around,  nods  to  the  Keyman.) 
It's  a  letter  fur  ye,  tellin'  ye  the  sand  in  that  little  gal,  Babe  Robinson. 
She's  wite,  she  is !  An'  I  believe  she  could  kill  a  man  as  quick  as  a  wink 
if  she  wanted  to.  (Morton  takes  the  note,  reads  it  quickly,  only  a  few 
words.) 

MORTON  (angrily)  :  But  she  didn't  know  that  it  was  Belmour  who 
killed  Steve? 

KEYMAN  (warningly)  :  H'sh!  Ye  wouldn't  be  givin'  him  away, 
wud  ye,  wen  she  forgive  'im  'erself?  Coorse  she  did!  An'  was  gniii' 
ter  kill  'im  'erself.  An'  then,  wen  he  give  her  the  pistol  to  do  it  with. 
she  thought  it  over,  for  she  had  seen  that  there  shooter  afore,  an'  she 
said  Steve  had  give  it  to  her,  and  she  had  give  it  to  you,  an'  I  found  it  on 


SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON  91 

the  rlure  and  took  it  fur  'im,  an'  there  it  was!  An'  she  cried  jest  like  a 
gal,  and  said  no  one  should  have  the  reward,  an'  she'd  'elp  'im  git  away. 
An'  yere's  yer  pistol — I  promised  Belmour  I'd  giv  it  to  ye.  (slinks  back 
again,  out  of  sight.) 

MORTON  :  My  God !  To  think  of  that  child,  that  innocent  child !  In 
such  a  place  as  that !  Let  us  find  her,  and  take  her  home ! 

(Ensemble  of  society  people.  Miss  Harrington,  Mrs.  Morton,  Mrs. 
Castleton  and  Marie.  Nearer,  arc  Mrs.  Spanglcr,  the  Bogie,  Sister  Ger 
trude,  Mr.  Morton.) 

MARIE  CASTLETON  :  We  are  wondering  why  Babe  did  not  come 
down  to  say  good-bye  to  little  Bunnie.  Have  you  seen  her? 

THE  PARSON  :  She  was  here  a  few  moments  ago.  She  is  going  to 
take  me  to  see  my  daughter  (he  trembles)  who  is  called  ''Sister  Gertrude." 

(Sister  Gertrude  turns  away,  half  fainting.) 

MRS.  SPANGLER  (effusively):  Then  here  she  is.  then!  Spake  up! 
Spake  up  to  yer  feyther,  my  dear !  An'  a  fine  gyurl  she  is,  sor.  One  of 
the  best  wimmin  in  the  worrld ! 

SISTER  GERTRUDE  :     Father  !     (turns  to  him.) 
PARSON  (enfolding  her)  :     Thank  God ! 

SISTER  GERTRUDE  (arousing  herself)  :  But  where  is  she — the  little 
dear  who  has  done  so  much  for  all  of  us?  She  has  kept  even  my  heart 
from  turning  to  stone !  She  is  the  one  that  saved  poor  little  Bunnie ! 

MRS.  SPANGLER:     She's  here,  somewhere,  shure. 

KEYMAN  (coming  out  from  the  back-ground):  Oh!  I  seen  'er! 
She  was  walkin'  down  the  edge  o'  the  dock,  dreamin'  like.  Ef  I  hadn't 
a  knowed  she  was  so  full  o'  grit,  I'd  a  thought  she  was  a  goin'  to  fall  in. 

MORTON  (starting)  :  Which  way?  Where  has  the  child  gone?  Let 
us  take  her  home ! 

MARIE  CASTLETON:  Oh,  Mr.  Morton!  can't  I  go  too?  Poor  little 
thing !  We  must  all  be  her  friends.  She  did  save  Bunnie's  life ! 

MORTON  :  As  if  she  should  have  to  marry  me !  I  won't  hold  her ! 
Who  am  I  ?  The  selfish,  the  conceited,  compared  with  that  innocent  little 
heart  ?  She  is  only  sixteen.  She  needs  a  brother,  and  a  father,  and  that's 
what  I  am  going  to  be  to  her !  Let  us  find  her  and  take  her  home,  (all 
follow,  with  Key  man  in  the  lead. 

Scene  changes  in  the  back-ground,  to  the  point  of  the  dock,  zvhere 
the  figure  of  Babe  stands  revealed,  poised  for  the  fatal  plunge.  Whitehall 
boat  comes  in  sight.) 

BABE  (forlornly):  There's  no  hope  for  me,  at  all!  I've  lost  my 
best  friend,  and  helped  my  worst  enemy.  Little  Bunnie's  been  taken 
away,  and  there's  nothing  left  to  love.  The  bay  will  be  a  kinder  friend 
to  me  than  the  cruel  old  city,  (whispers.)  How  black  and  cold  the 
water  looks  !  Oh,  God  !  Let  me  drown  quickly.  I'm  sorry  !  I'm  sorry  ! 
(plunges  in. 

Morton  comes,  running!  Cry  from  the  Whitehall  boat!  Some  one 
leaps  from  it,  into  the  waves.  As  the  form  of  Babe  comes  up,  the  rescuer 


92  SOCIETY    AND    BABE    ROBINSON 

grasps  her  in  his  arms.  Morton  tears  off  his  coat,  rushes  to  the  edge  of 
the  dock.  Others  gather,  wringing  their  hands.  Boat  reaches  wharf. 
Keyman  throws  down  a  rope,  tied  to  the  dock.  Rescuer  seizes  it.  Those 
in  the  boat  help  together.  Morton  and  others  draw  up  the  form  of  Babe, 
and  the  rescuer,  both  dripping  wet.) 

RESCUER:     Look  out  for  Babe,  I'm  all  right! 
MARIE  :     Why,  Malcolm  ! 
(Morton  extends  his  hand  to  him  silently.) 
MRS.  SPANGLER  AND  THE  BOGIE  (both  weeping):     The    pore    choild ! 

(Marie  takes  off  her  cloak.  Sister  Gertrude  puts  her  shawl  about 
Babe.  Bobbv  Spangler  produces  a  flash,  and  a  little  whiskey  is  poured 
down  her  throat.  Morton,  kneeling  by  her  side,  takes  her  hand.  Presently 
Babe  gives  a  shiver  and  the  blue  eyes  open.  Keyman  observes  this.) 

KEYMAN  :  Jes'  in  nick  of  time.  A  minnit  more  and  she'd  been  a 
goner ! 

(Babe  looks  wonderingly  from  one  to  another;  till  at  last,  her  eyes 
meet  Morton's.  Then  she  begins  to  weep,  and  her  body  shakes  with  con 
vulsive  sobs.) 

MORTON*  :  Don't  cry,  dear !  don't  be  worried !  All  your  troubles  are 
over  now. 

BABE  (sitting  up  slowly  and  wistfully)  :  What's  the  use  of  trying  to 
keep  me  alive?  My  troubles  can  never  be  over.  There  is  no  way  for  me 
to  be  happy  in  this  world.  I  was  just  put  here  to  carry  out  the  punishment 
of  the  innocent  for  the  guilty ! 

MORTON  (holding  up  his  hand,  in  protest) :  I  know  everything, 
little  girl.  The  parson  has  told  me.  ( the  parson  kneels  by  her  and  assures 
her  this  is  so.)  And  how  brave  you  have  been.  And  there  is  an  answer 
to  all  your  troubles,  dear  Babe.  Just  one! 

(Babe  leans  forward,  eagerly,  as  Sister  Gertrude  holds  her  anus 
around  her.) 

MORTON  :  Love  is  the  answer  to  all  our  troubles  and  woes.  Isn't  it, 
friends?  Love  and  sympathy? 

(Murmur  of  voices  blended  in  an  affirmative  response. 
Babe  attempts  to  rise,  with  new  hope  stirring  within  her.) 

BABE  (delaying)  :  Yes.  But  there  is  one  thing  more  which  one  must 
have  in  order  to  be  really  happy. 

MORTON:  What  is  it?  I  promise  you,  beforehand,  that  you  shall 
have  it., 

BARE  (rising  to  her  feet,  with  Sister  Gertrude  helping  her)  :  Society ! 
We  cannot  live  without  SOCIETY!  We  must  have  friends  and  com 
panions,  or  life  is  very  sad. 

(They  laugh,  and  draz*.1  the  shawls  around  her.  Marie  kisses  her  on 
the  cheek;  while  Miss  Harrington  scolds  her  a  little,  and  then  orders  her 
carriage  to  drive  up.) 

Miss  HARRINGTON  :     Now,  Sister  Gertrude,  you  and  your  father  can 


SOCIETY    AXD    BABE    ROBINSON'-        !/:'"/ j\i?3; 

take  Malcolm  and  Babe  in  my  carriage,  to  my  home,  and  we'll  look  out 
for  these  children. 

MORTON:  But,  my  dear  Miss  Harrington,  Babe  belongs  to  us!  She 
is  going  to  stay  with  my  mother — why,  mother  ? 

(But  Mrs.  Morton  being  a  cold-hearted  Eastern  woman  shrinks  away 
at  the  very  thought,  and  Morton  is  covered  with  mortification.  Miss 
Harrington  smiles  in  a  superior  wav  and  turns  to  Sister  Gertrude.  Sister 
Gertrude  takes  her  hand  gently.  Miss  Harrington  is  filled  with  compassion 
for  the  homeless  child.) 

Miss  HARRINGTON  (authoritatively)  :  Not  a  word !  It  pleases  me 
to  do  this.  And  won't  you  all  come  and  dine  with  me  tonight  ? 

MALCOLM  :  Well !  I'll  see  to  it  that  Babe  has  all  the  friends  she 
wants,  for  I'm  going  to  be  her  brother !  And  Joe  Morton,  won't  you  be 
a  kind  of  an  adopted  father  to  us  both  till  Kate  comes  back  ? 

(Morton  closes  in  and  gives  him  a  bearish  kind  of  hand-clasp  and 
paternal  embrace.  Murray  arrives.) 

Miss  HARRINGTON  (haughtily)  :     Murray,   will   you   tell    Dennis  to 
drive  here?    (Murray  bows  and  goes.    Miss  Harrington  turns  to  Malcolm 
with  a  smile.)     And  why  can't  I  be  an  adopted  aunt  to  you  both  ? 
MALCOLM  (warmly)  :     So  you  shall !    Won't  that  be  fine,  Babe  ? 
BABE:     Yes,  it  will !    And  see  (she  turns  to  Morton  and  points  in  the 
direction  of  the  Golden  Gate)  the  ship  is  away  out,  going  through  the 
Gate    with    all    its    burden    of    sorrow !     And    I    am    here — safe    with 
FRIENDS ! 

(Murray  comes  with  Dennis  and  the  carriage.  Babe  turns  to  Morton 
and  to  Marie  zvho  help  her  to  do  as  Miss  Harrington  bids,  authoritatively, 
which  is  to  enter  the  carriage,  with  Sister  Gertrude,  and  Malcolm  follows 
with  the  Parson.  Carriage  driven  away.  Miss  Harrington,  Mrs.  Morton, 
Joe  Morton,  Marie  Castleton  depart.  Mrs.  Spangler,  Bobby  and  the 
Bogie  walk  away  leisurely.  The  Key  man  stands  like  one  carved  from 
stone,  looking  after  the  departing  ship.) 

(The    End.) 


A  FRIEND  OF  THE  PEOPLE,  by  Theodore  Bonnet.  A  play  in  four  acts 
with  a  prefatory  epistle  to  Ashton  Stevens,  who  pronounced  it  a  drama  of 
"upbuilding  conflict."  Published  by  the  Pacific  Publishing  Company,  88 
First  street,  San  Francisco.  On  sale  at  the  leading  bookstores.  $1.50. 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  FILES  OF  CALIFORNIA.  A  Review  of  California 
Literature,  containing  many  portraits  and  extracts  from  the  writings  of 
the  early  writers  of  the  Pacific  Coast,  from  1853  to  1893.  By  Ella  Sterling 
Mighels.  Price,  $4.00.  "This  book  represents  an  enormous  amount  of 
painstaking  work  and  is  of  singular  charm  because  of  the  author's  enthusi 
asm  and  love  of  her  theme.  In  brief  space  she  has  given  admirable 
estimates  of  all  the  leading  California  authors,"  George  Hamlin  Fitch, 
author  of  "Comfort  to  Be  Found  in  Old  Books,"  "Modern  Books  of 
Power,"  etc.  "This  work  entitles  the  author  to  the  gratitude  of  California 
for  all  time,"  Ina  Coolbrith,  author  of  "Songs  from  the  Golden  Gate,"  "A 
Perfect  Day  and  Other  Poems." 


THE  FULL  GLORY  OF  DIANTHA,  a  Novel,  by  Ella  Sterling  Mighels. 
Price,  $1.25.  Published  by  Forbes  and  Co.,  Chicago.  On  sale  H.  S. 
Crocker  and  Co.,  S.  F.  "This  is  a  strong,  bright  novel  with  much  to  read 
between  the  lines,"  Edwin  Markham,  author  of  "Lincoln  and  Other 
Poems,"  etc. 


SAN  FRANCISCO  REDIVIVUS,  an  Open  Letter  to  All  Calif ornians,  by 
Ella  Sterling  Mighels ;  to  be  obtained  from  the  author,  1605  Baker  street. 
This  is  a  booklet  written  the  year  after  the  fire  and  urging  protection  of 
the  family  and  the  home  as  the  best  security  for  the  city  itself.  Price,  ten 
cents.  This  belongs  to  collections  of  California. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
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OVERDUE. 


WGr  7  193 

.i&N     31933 

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"RTD  LD     S0>  3 

TO-SPWi^T 

MAY  0  9  1992 

AL1TO  DISC. 

MAY  U  V  19 

CIRCULATION 

-f  IB  i  '  200*' 

^-i1?  -0  fc 

LD  21-100m-8,'34 

U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


337 


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